


Fallout: The White Eagle

by emdashesnsemicolons



Series: Fallout: The Choose Your Romance Project [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: All the Noir Tropes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Black Character(s), By PoC about PoC, Canon-Typical Violence, Cliche, Detective Noir, Espionage, F/M, Female Character of Color, Historical References, I No Longer Care As Long as I'm Having Fun And I Am, Jewish Character, Mystery, Period-Typical Racism, Racebent!Nick Valentine, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emdashesnsemicolons/pseuds/emdashesnsemicolons
Summary: She had skin like the sun worshipped every inch of it, lips that could put rose petals to shame, and the kind of dark eyes that made a fella like me think that—if I even had one—she could see straight through my soul. The kind of woman followed by nothing but trouble, or maybe she was the kind that chased it.“You Nick Valentine?” she asked.From the day she sweet-talked me out of that Vault with that vague sob story, I knew I'd gotten in way over my head.





	1. Autumn in Ganymede

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after the Seatbelt's "Autumn in Ganymede," from the Cowboy Bebop OST. (I like that soundtrack, okay?)
> 
> Warning: I went full ham in regard to Noir tropes. There is so much cheesy language in here, it's an entire sandwich.

Dino's ugly mug was pressed up against the glass, and I suddenly couldn't decide what was more unsettling: the greasy, filmy print his crooked nose left behind(it probably got broken more than a few too many times), the fact that he'd locked me in this craphole of a room, or the way that hat of his highlighted the way his ears didn't seem to line up just right.

"How ya doin' in there, Valentine?" he asked, breath fogging up the window. "Feelin' hungry? Wanna snack?"

Not the first time I'd heard that; asking if a synth was hungry or needed a drink was a cheap shot. It was like asking Dino if he'd read any good pop-up books lately, or if he'd finally managed to find a vest in his size. Considering the situation I was already in, I decided to go with different bait.

"Keep talking, meathead," I said. "It'll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he's gonna bump you off!"

His eyes went this way, then that way. He was thinking about it. 

"Don't give me that crap, Valentine. You know nothin', you got nothin'."

I had to hold back a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. All I had to do was reel him in.

"Really? I saw him writing your name down in that 'black book' of his. 'Lousy cheating card shark' I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across." I leaned in closer, pressing against my side of the glass. "Three times."

Color drained from his face like cheap watered-down hooch at a bar on a Friday night.

"Three strikes?" There was a stutter in his voice. He stepped back, took off that hat and smoothed his gelled hair back off his sweaty forehead. "But I never... Oh no. I, I... I gotta smooth this over, fast."

Once the goon took off running, I got to pacing around the room. A hundred and six crates in this closet and not one had anything useful, save a pack of Grey Tortoise smokes.

The floor shook with a deafening bang. I heard a man hollering down the hall: the sound of pain. That unmistakable _click-clock-BOOM _of a shotgun rendered the vault silent again. So quiet, I could hear the pump in my chest ringing in my ears. And then footsteps. Muffled. Flat. Boots, probably. Two different sets. One, quick, flighty. The other set was slower and deliberate, with the freedom that came with a set of long legs and confidence. They finally stopped on the other side of the dirty window. Piper. With those scurrying footfalls, I wasn't too surprised.

The other was a taller woman: skin like the sun worshipped every inch of it, lips that could put rose petals to shame, and the kind of dark eyes that made a fella like me think that_—_if I even had one—she could see straight through my soul. The kind of woman followed by nothing but trouble, or maybe she was the kind that chased it.

“You Nick Valentine?” she asked.

Right. I was still in this mess, and if Skinny Malone got a whiff that his favorite henchman wasn't coming back, it was about to get a helluva lot stickier.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain't coming back.” I pointed at the terminal on her side of the wall. “Get this door open.”

She gave me a once-over, that dark brow of her arched high. Someone didn't like being told what to do. She swiveled on her heels and got to work like she'd done this her entire life.

“Nick, what happened?” Piper asked, her hand against the glass. Always did like Piper; a little headstrong, sure. Maybe overeager. But she was straightforward and honest, and those kind of qualities were a rarity these days.

“Long story, doll. I'll tell you later.”

The door opened with a hiss, and in came Piper and her friend with mile-long gams. Her tan pinstripe slacks, belted high on her waist and hanging loosely off the ripe curves of her hips, were splattered with blood at the legs. Must have been the one who offed Dino. I suddenly felt a brief twinge of sympathy for the old brute. _Brief._

The woman tilted her head, making  _that _ face, the narrowed eyes, the open mouth, the wrinkle between the eyebrows—the face folks always make when they see me for the first time. Probably taking in the cracked plastic and wires,  _whatever _ it is that freaks them out the most. Again, I was used to it; I was different and no amount of good deeds and talent was gonna change that.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario.” Ah. Shouldn't have said that out loud. Too late. Striking a match, I lit up one of the cigarettes I'd helped myself to. Tasted bitter and silky on the tongue. Maybe it'd help me recover from that little slip-up. “Question is, why did our heroine risk life and live for an old private eye?”

“What are you? Some kinda android or something?”

Android. Hadn't heard that slur in a while. Yet the way she said it, all honeyed whiskey-like, held no venom in it. Behind her, Piper made a face like she'd just witnessed a stabbing. I shook it off. Slurs hadn't bothered me in decades. I liked to think I was too thick-skinned.

“Told you. I'm a detective. Look, I know the skin and the metal parts ain't comforting, but it's not important right now. The only thing that matters is why you went to all this trouble to cut me loose.”

Either the floor must have become real interesting, or what she was about to say was something heavy. Because of course, it was. People didn't come to me about petty thefts or kittens stuck in trees. It was always something about murders or death threats or missing people or all of the above.

“I need you to find someone, but it's...” She rubbed the back of her neck and she finally looked at me. But her stare was hollow this time. Empty. Like a night sky with no stars. “It's complicated. I don't exactly know where they could be, or how long they've been gone.”

I shrugged. “Well, I've done jobs with less. Somehow, 'nice and simple' never makes it onto the menu in my world.” The tension on her face seemed to melt just a little, and I rolled my shoulder giving a satisfying pop, sending a pleasant current straight up my spine. Pinched nerve. “I've been cooped up in here for weeks. Turns out the runaway daughter I came here to find wasn't kidnapped. She's Skinny Malone's new flame, and she's got a mean streak.”

Once I put out the cigarette, I offered to help once we managed to leave this joint, and the mystery woman was more than happy to assist in making my way toward Malone. We came upon a sealed vault door. Jammed. No terminal, either. A simple rewiring would do the trick.

“Okay, I got it, but I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side. Once we step through this door, get ready for anything.”

Silence.

The door hissed open just as I looked back at her. Skinny Malone stood at the end of the room with two of his men flanking him; this time, his brat of a sweetheart—Darla—stood at his side, armed with a bat. With the looks on their faces, I could've sworn something had crawled and died in the room.

“Nicky? What are you doin'?” Malone asked. Called me Nicky, like we were friends. Like we sat down and cracked open a few cold ones back in the day. We weren't and we hadn't. “You come into my house. Shoot up my guys. You have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?”

“I wouldn't be here if it weren't for your two-timing dame, Skinny. You ought to tell her to write home more often.”

“Awww... Poor little Valentine,” Darla said. Her nasal Brooklyn accent did something to the knife-like sarcasm in her voice. Amplified it like an echo. “Ashamed you got beat up by a girl? I'll just run back to daddy, shall I?”

Skinny—and he wasn't—was toying with the barrel on his assault rifle, as if he'd already made up his mind. Like he was doing something as simple as lighting a cigarette. He was about to go on one of his infamous power trips. “Should've left it alone, Nicky. This ain't the old neighborhood. In this Vault, I'm king of the castle, you hear me? And I ain't lettin' some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin'!”

Darla's sharp heel stomped on the ground. “I told you we should've just killed him.” Skinny swayed with a brisk shove of her bony hand. “But then you had to get all sentimental! All that stupid crap about the 'old times!'” Every word she spoke was like a revolver, spitting out one bullet after the other over the corpse of Malone's fragile ego.

“Old times?” the mystery woman asked quietly. Fair question. They must've not heard her. Too busy arguing.

“Old rivalry,” I whispered back. “I'll explain later.”

“What's this lady doing here, huh?” Darla demanded. The grip on her bat was tightening. “Valentine must've brought her here to rub us all out!”

Mystery woman stretched her arms languidly, treating this life-or-painful death situation like the most minor of inconveniences. “Listen to me, kid. It looks like you got a home to go back to.” She gestured at Malone with her head. “You really wanna throw it all away for these thugs?”

Darla's nostrils flared, painted lips puckering like she was holding back a scream. But instead, mascara started streaming down her face. Something the woman had said must've turned some light switch on in her head. “I... I... You're right... What am I doing? I've gotten all mixed up!”

Malone looked like she'd pick-pocketed him and kicked him in the jewels—with their relationship, I wouldn't have crossed that off as one of their standard bedroom activities, although I didn't need that image floating around in my head.

“Darla? Where are you going?”

She wiped her face, squared her shoulders and walked off with her dignity wrapped around her like one of them wraps, her sense of entitlement the sealing brooch. “Home, Skinny. Where I should have been all this time. This is goodbye for us.”

Sadly for people like Malone, with the enabling party gone, they often fell apart. That he didn't know what to do without her was written all over that wide kisser of his as he watched her leave. “Oh, come on, Nicky,” he whined. “You cost me my men, now you and your friend cost me my girl?”

“My friend here just did you a favor, Skinny. You always did have bad taste in women.” And since he didn't answer, I pressed our luck. “Now that she's not around to feed that temper of yours, maybe you'll see sense and let us walk? You still owe me for two weeks in the hole.”

He gritted his teeth together, muttering something to himself, and when he shouted, I felt my circuit freeze up, thinking we were done for.

“Alright, you get to the count of ten! I still see you after that, I'm gunning the three of you down!”

_Thanks, pal. _“We better get outta here. Fast,” I muttered as I took off. The two behind me were smart enough to follow, with Skinny's booming voice counting off.

Had I still owned lungs, I would have been out of breath by the time we climbed out of the vault.d Still I appreciated the caress of the Commonwealth breeze, cool and autumnal, if not a bit toxic. Certainly refreshing after two weeks of recycled, stale air. Flecks of gold were beginning to stretch over the blue-gray sky.

“How did you know where to find me, anyway? Not many people knew where I went.”

I looked and she was staring hard, eyes narrowed and her pretty little head tilted in concentration. From that alone, I could guess I wasn't getting the answer I wanted. Or any at all.

“Really,” she finally said. “What are you, Nick?”

It was almost insulting. I was used to being stared at, having trash thrown at me, being insulted. But she was looking at me like I was some kind of extraterrestrial or a freak show. I was used to that, too; I had made the mistake of thinking she would be different—though I was basing that on nothing but a hunch. A bad one, looked like.

“You really don't know? I'm a synth.” I'd thought I was done having to explain this. “Synthetic man. All the parts...” I wouldn't deny the thrill it gave me to see the way her dark eyes roved over me, though I hadn't exactly meant it as a double entendre. “Minus a few red blood cells. I got built, I got old, I got tossed. Then I opened up that little agency in Diamond City and turns out people have plenty of problems to solve.”

She still had that dumbfounded look on her face, her head tilted the other way now. She wasn't gonna let this go, was she?

“Now, you mentioned something about a missing person. No trace of where they've gone?”

That seemed to snap her out of it, eyes coming back into focus. I had to hold back a sigh of relief. I hated telling that damn story.

“I want you to come to my office in Diamond City. Give me all the details. Besides, I think you've earned a chance to sit down and clear your head.”

Those ruby red lips curled at the ends, the tension visibly melting from her face with the ease of a sigh. Like she'd been dragging the entire universe on those shoulders of hers, and the weight had suddenly vanished. Maybe not all of it, but some.

“I'll meet you in Diamond City.” She didn't have to say thank you; it was all there in the sweetness of her voice.

“See you in Diamond City.” I tipped my hat toward both of them. “Piper.”

“Nick.”

How long had it been since a gal struck me like that? Admittedly, the metal and plastic parts spooked most people away; it didn't completely stop me from looking from time to time. The occasional curious one might stop and smile from time to time, bat their lashes, but never quite close enough to touch. Old Nick was used to being an outsider, anyway, so it wasn't like _I_ minded too much. More often than not, I had enough paperwork on my desk to keep my mind (and hands) busy. Then, there was Ellie, of course. But she was young. Innocent. Looked up to me the way a kid looked up to a father. From the way her eyes darkened every now and then, the lingering touches she hoped I didn't notice, I knew that wasn't all she wanted. But I couldn't bring myself to break that sacred bond. She was my employee, my secretary, my protege. And I wouldn't break her trust by coming on to her.

When I looked back, Piper and the mystery woman were still having a chat, with Piper swinging her arms in that animated way she had whenever she felt there was some sort of injustice. Sometimes I wondered if she was straight out of a Looney Tunes show. The taller woman, whose name I realized I'd forgotten to get, was putting on a trilby. And then it hit me:

I'd seen this woman before. A long, long time ago.


	2. 'Round About Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick has two mysteries on his hands: 1) Who kidnapped Ms. Vidal's baby? And 2) Why does Ms. Vidal look so familiar? And each clue he finds only leads to a million other questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after Miles Davis' "'Round About Midnight."
> 
> I made some of Nick's in-game dialogue internal because it made more sense to me that way. Enjoy.

_The devil is in the details, _I always told my clients. No matter how painful something was, I needed to know everything if they wanted me to find someone who'd gone missing. But half of me was still trying to place the woman sitting in front of me. Her name, Julia Vidal, fogged-up my head even more. I had seen that name before, heard it being spoken of somewhere. Or, rather _Old Nick _had. There were times I got these flashes from his life: walking in a park, lights from a city I'd never been in, his bar mitzvah, and then there was Jenny. The memories of Jenny were the hardest. I tried to shove those away, sweep them under the rug in the confines of my mind. Every now and then she'd pop up again, all sugar and dazzling smiles, tugging at the hollow place where my heart should have been

So, I understood the concept of not wanting to dredge up old, painful memories, especially those that weren't mine. Ms. Vidal fidgeted with her fingers over her lap (I pretended not to notice the lighter band of skin over her right ring finger), crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them again like she couldn't get comfortable. And I knew she wouldn't. She ran her tongue over her faded red lipstick, still staring at her hands like she couldn't trust herself to look at me and not cry.

"We're looking for my baby," she said quietly. "Shaun. He's less than a year old." I saw her mouth tremble for a moment. "Why would anyone take him?"

"Good question. Why your family in particular, and why an infant? Someone would be taking on all of his care, and a baby needs a lot of it," I thought aloud. "What else can you tell me?"

She swallowed. Still not looking at me, but her eyes were already glistening in the incandescent light of the desk lamp.

"We were in a Vault when it happened. Vault 111. Some kind of cryo facility." She shrugged as if it made less sense to her than it would to me. And it probably did. Sure solved the mystery of how Old Nick would know her, though not the _why._

"So you were on ice, huh?" I took a drag out of my cigarette, purely out of habit. "More importantly, you were underground. Sealed up. That's a lot of obstacles to get through just to take one person." I could hear the scratch of Ellie's pencil against her notepad behind me. "Anything else you can tell me?"

Her large eyes fluttered, wet lashes against her cheekbones.

"My husband," she began and she sniffed. "He was murdered. He was trying to keep them from taking Shaun and they..." Her features twisted in pain in the way no one's should, and she scraped a hand over it to hide it. From me, maybe?

"It's okay," Ellie said, walking over to her side to offer her a box of tissues. "You don't have to say anything more." Always helpful, that Ellie. I wouldn't know what I'd do without her.

"We're talking about a group of cold-hearted killers, but they waited until something went wrong to resort to violence." That confirmed it in my mind. This was no random kidnapping. Whoever took her kid had an agenda. But who? "There's a lot of groups in the Commonwealth that take people: Raiders, Super Mutants, the Gunners..." But none of those groups were that smart. This took a lot of planning. Forethought. "And, of course, there's the Institute."

"Institute?"

Of course. Being pre-war, she wouldn't have heard of them. "They're the boogeyman of the Commonwealth. Something goes wrong, everyone blames them. Easy to see why. Those early model synths of theirs strip whole towns for parts, killing everything in their way." By the sharp arch in her eyebrows, I could feel the suspicion radiating from her. "Then you got the newer models, good as human, that infiltrate cities and pull strings from the shadows. Worst of all, no one knows why they do it, what their plan is, or where they are." And to allay her distrust, I added, "Not even me, and I'm a synth, myself. A discarded prototype, anyway."

Ask away, I wanted to tell her. I knew it was coming: _You really don't remember anything? Are you one of them? Which type are you?_

To my surprise, it never did.

She shook her head, gaze falling back to her lap.

“I just want to find Shaun.”

“You're right. This speculation is getting us off track. Let's focus on what you saw. What did these kidnappers look like?”

Her chest rose with a deep breath, her eyes closing like she was putting herself back in that cryo facility. Part of me hated doing that to her. The logical part of me knew it was necessary.

“There was a woman... Had a hazard suit on or something. And the man... He had some kind of a metal brace on his arm.”

Some kind of improvised armor, maybe. A lot of hired guns did that to look tough. It was the hazmat suit that struck me as interesting. Few mercs could afford something that fancy.

“The man who killed Nate—my husband... He had a handgun? I didn't get a clear look at it, but that sound... God, that sound.”

If she was locked in a chamber, like I assumed she was, it must have been a large caliber revolver for her to have heard it so distinctly through that thick layer of glass.

“Came right up to me. The man. Bald head, scar across his eye.”

I'd seen many bald and scarred mercs in the last century or so, but only one with such a distinctive scar across his eye. “Couldn't be... You didn't hear the name 'Kellogg' at all, did you?”

She took a moment. If she'd been waking up from cryosleep, it made sense that she wouldn't remember every single detail. “I don't know... Everything's so foggy.”

Had to be him, though. Way too big of a coincidence. “Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?”

Ellie flipped through the yellowed pages of her notes. “The description matches: bald head, scar, mercenary... But no one knows who his employer is.”

“Didn't he buy a house here in town?”

She nodded. And then her big brown eyes widened like saucers. “And he had a child with him,” she said carefully. “The house in the abandoned West Stands. The boy with him was around ten years old.”

Didn't seem to comfort her. She shook her head. “But Shaun's... He's eleven months old.” She leaned forward on her elbows, hand over her mouth. Then she smoothed it over her the top of her hair, tugged at the long, textured braid, rubbed her fingertips over its frayed ends. “God, _ten years._ I missed nine years of his life.” Emotions seemed to play in the darkness of her eyes like a zoetrope, swinging from hopefulness to guilt like a metronome.

I hated to douse down the hope, but I was more than happy to stamp out the guilt.

“Don't jump the gun on me now. It's always possible he has a son of his own, or that it's someone else's kid. Either way, they both vanished a while back.”

Julia sank back into the armchair like I'd shot her.

“Let's you and I take a walk over to Kellogg's last known address. See if we can snoop out where he went.” Least I could do for a grieving mother. And it was nice to see some hope light up in those eyes of hers as she stood up to follow me.

“Security doesn't really go to that part of town, but you two should still be careful,” Ellie said.

“I always am.”

* * *

While we made our way to the West Stands, Ms. Vidal didn't say a word. I caught a peek of her peering at the city's decaying structures through the brim of her trilby hat. It didn't suit her, in my opinion. Something with a wider brim, maybe. Then again, I was partial to fedoras. Not that my opinion mattered worth a damn; besides, I was certain she could make wearing a garbage bag look good. Which reminded me: I should be extra careful with this one. In my experience, good-looking folks tended to put their charms to work to wiggle out of any situation. Then again, I would, too. If I had 'em.

“I didn't want Ellie to hear this, but I think you should know: Everything I dug up about Kellogg before his disappearance is bad news,” I said. “He's more than just a mercenary. He's a professional. Quick, clean, thorough. Has no enemies, because they're all dead... Except you.”

“Guess I'm about to become the most dangerous bitch in the Commonwealth, then,” she replied. Her voice was hollow. Numb, but resolute. Like she knew she was going to stare death in the face; as if she knew there was a possibility she wouldn't walk out of this alive. And she'd embrace it.

A man had to admire her confidence, even if it was misplaced. I'd seen Kellogg's work before several times. If she was going to bump him off, she'd have to be ten times smarter, ten times quicker, twenty times more heartless. Was she capable of doing that? Old Nick's memories weren't telling me anything, so whether she was would remain another unknown. I didn't like unknowns. With any luck, Ellie would get the note I'd left her to dig up any pre-war files with the last name “Vidal.”

“Nine to one odds says he's our man,” I continued. “It's more than just you identifying his distinguishing features. The MO is all him as well. Leading a small team to kidnap a baby, and leaving one of the parents alive for later? Not many mercs in the Commonwealth can pull that off.” Few of them were that smart.

We climbed the rusted, creaking ramps to the upper stands and to the abandoned house. “This is it. Keep an eye out, will ya? I'll see if I can get this open.”

She didn't say anything, but I could hear the soft tap of her gloved fingers against the railing. What was she staring at? The birds? There were crows all over Diamond City. They might as well have been rats with wings, the pests.

Damn lock wouldn't budge. Years of rust and disuse did that to hardware—I would know.

“Let me take a crack at it,” she offered, pulling a bobby pin out of her hair. She searched through her bag, got out an oil can and a screwdriver. She smeared a few drops onto the lock, over the tip of the screwdriver and the bobby pin before getting to work. Someone picked locks on the regular, I remarked to myself. And just like that, it popped open like she had just said _please._

“Well, color me impressed.”

She gave me a sly smile and a shrug but offered no explanation as she went in.

“Let's take a look around,” I said. “Kellogg must have left something behind.” Hopefully not any explosive devices, though I wouldn't put it past the bastard. The house was unimpressive. I wasn't surprised that it was relatively empty, save some old dusty furniture, but with the kind of dough a fella like Kellogg was raking in, I guess I'd expected something more swank. “Place seem small to you? Figured a guy like Kellogg would think big.”

“No one managed to find him until after he moved, so it worked. Hiding in plain sight is the way to go,” she offered, much to my surprise. It made sense, but I wanted to ask her about it. About why she'd think that and how she knew. But with the third shrug she'd tossed my way tonight, I knew she wasn't going to tell me.

The floor rumbled. Behind me, the wall slid open to reveal another room. There must have been some switch by the desk she stood behind. “Well, that's one way to hide a room.” A tufted leather armchair sat in the middle of it, surrounded by metal shelves, a blue chest of arms, and some tables. There was mostly survival gear: cans of food, Nuka Cola bottles, and ammo on the shelves (and a mannequin hiding behind the shelves for some reason). Stimpaks lay on one table where they'd been thrown haphazardly. Next to the empty Gwinnett stout beer bottle and ashtray, sat a carton of San Francisco Sunlights cigars and an empty box of .44 caliber bullets. An interesting brand of cigar, but it wouldn't lead us anywhere on its own.

A brisk shuffle of feet had me looking up. Ms. Vidal was pointing her shotgun at the mannequin dressed in a sweatsuit. Must've not seen it when we first came in. Couldn't blame her. Thing gave me the creeps, too.

A dead end. Damn.

She paused her pacing, running her thumb over her bottom lip. Thinking.

“I have a dog back at Piper's place. Dogmeat. Think he'd be able to pick up the scent?” she asked. The first piece of information she'd volunteered without me asking.

“Say, that's not a bad idea. Some dogs out there in the Commonwealth can track a man for miles. Why don't you go fetch him and let him have a whiff? See if he picks up the trail.”

She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, nodding, and she went for the door.

“Before you head out,” I added, “I know this is personal business. If you have to face Kellogg on your own, just say so.”

She tilted her head again in that way she did when she was debating on something in her head. I'd only known her for a few hours and I'd figured that out already. What could I say? I wouldn't have this job if I weren't good at it.

“You mean you're not coming with me?”

Didn't mean _nothing _took me by surprise, and Ms. Vidal was sure chock full of them. My tongue felt clumsy, like a frat boy after a Saturday night kegger. “Er... That's not...”

And she laughed. Laughed! Why that sounded so musical to me... I didn't know. But I could sure stand to hear it again.

“Come on, then. Time's a-wastin', boychick.”

* * *

I stood by the city gate, waiting on her. Said she had to pick up a few things for the trip. A synth like me tended to forget about the need for food, as I did not need for it, so I tended to pack light. Depending on how far this pooch took us, we could be out on the road for a week or two.

Before leaving, Ellie had told me she had no luck looking through the files we had. Looked like Ms. Vidal was going to remain a mystery for now, and maybe that was how she liked it.

Had it not been for the shape of her body and the sway in her gait, I wouldn't have spotted her in the distance, wearing that unassuming denim jumpsuit and black helmet. Practical. She wouldn't call much attention to herself (unlike yours truly.) Could have been a traveling merchant, or another farmer or mechanic. Me? Not much I could do about these glowing eyes of mine, nor the cracks and wires sticking out of my mug.

“Ready?” I asked once she was close enough.

She knelt and offered Dogmeat what looked like a cigar. I assumed it was used if he was gonna pick up a scent from it. She must have swiped it from Kellogg's desk. And then she spoke in a soft voice, using a language I couldn't quite pick up. Old Nick must have had some point of reference for it, and I looked for it.

Spanish.

Right. Before the war, Chicago had a sizable Spanish-speaking community. So what kind of accent did she have? I racked through the fragments of Old Nick's memory while we followed Dogmeat. No luck. Wait. Didn't a lot of Latino folks have double surnames, used in reversed order? He at least let me have that bit of knowledge. Gave the old pencil pushers quite the headache, and many were filed away under the wrong surname. Explained why Ellie had found nothing under Vidal. Ms. Vidal could have been mistakenly filed under her mother's surname instead, and she hadn't shared that name with me.

Me asking now would only make her more suspicious of me, so I decided not to ask, but I made a note to ask Ellie to search under a different name. Once I learned it, anyway.


	3. Road to the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Kellogg doesn't go as planned. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after (yes, a freaking Cowboy Bebop song so get used to it) "Road to the West" by the Seatbelts.
> 
> I also could have named it, "Julia Gets Pwned," or "Drug-Free is the Way to Be (Unless They Help You To Survive, and Then That's What They're For)"
> 
> Warning for gore, implied racism, implied racial violence, drug usage, and Conrad Kellogg being Conrad Kellogg.

It took us about twelve hours of following the dog around from bum steer to bum steer until we arrived at Fort Hagen. That fella Conrad must've had a thing for leaving half-smoked stogies drenched in his drool laying around, especially when they hid explosive devices. If it weren't for Ms. Vidal's quick fingers, I'd be missing yet another chunk of my face and Ellie wouldn't have let me hear the end of it. In that half-day, I saw her shoot the heads off several molerats and ghouls, blow up a yao guai with two grenades, and jump onto a Super Mutant's shoulders, lock on with her legs, swing a machete at its neck and leave it half-decapitated, and finish the job once it fell to the floor. Made me think she was demonstrating what she'd do to me if I sold her out. Old Nick wanted to say he was fine with it as long as it involved her thighs. Old Nick thought a lot of stupid crap.

Fort Hagen was right on the other side of the bridge, when out came these feral ghouls. Dozens of them. Grenades must've gotten them riled up. Good ole' Dogmeat had one by the leg and my revolver was making quick work of the ghouls when I realized one of those green giants was storming in from the right. Julia didn't get a single shot in, though she wasted about 8 slugs—_who the hell taught her how to aim?_—before it picked her up and tossed her against a dead tree like a Raggedy Ann doll.

She let out a howl and I _knew _she'd broken something.

Just me and the dog now, and the big oaf was barreling through the ghouls, knocking them over like bowling pins left and right. Two shots left in the barrel. Better make them count. Dogmeat was already charging at it when I noticed a tiny flashing red dot on the Super Mutant's shoulder. Shit.

“Stop, Dogmeat! Halt!” I said.

Smart dog that he was, he skidded to a stop; I let the big ugly get a little closer and away from him. Aiming from behind a wall, I aimed at the dot and pulled the trigger.

He left this life in a cloud of fire and smoke, raining over the pavement in chunks of flesh, entrails, and teeth. (Super Mutants had such big sets of chompers, I'd always wondered whether they could bite their foreheads when they sneezed. Guess I'd never know now.)

When I found Julia, she'd managed to lean up against one of the dead trees. There were some cuts on her cheek and eye that would likely need stitching. A big splinter of rotten wood was sticking out of her arm like someone had confused her for a vampire; her leg, though, was worse. There was a large dark stain on the denim and, after tearing the fabric, I was pretty damn sure shins were not supposed to stick out of flesh that way.

“There's stimpaks,” she whimpered, voice shaking. “My bag.” She could barely point to where it was, she was shaking so bad.

Stimpaks would certainly do the trick for the skin, muscle, and ligament tissue she'd torn, but it wouldn't do squat for a broken bone in this situation. “Listen, doll. I'm gonna have to disinfect and set it first.”

She squinted, teeth gritted, her head lolling backward. If her screams hadn't attracted anyone's attention yet, the one she would make during the adjustment would. There were some clean clothes in the bag, and I offered it for her to bite down on. She took it, stuffed the shirt in her mouth. And then she grabbed my hand. The broken one, without a shred of plastic to cover it up. Even so, I could feel her hand had gone cold and slippery, and she was shaking like a leaf. I wouldn't tell her I'd never done this kind of thing before—not to a human, anyway.

“Ready?”

Julia shut her eyes tightly, her dripping nostrils flaring and nodded. First went the vodka over the wound. Then, the part we were both dreading.

One. Two.

—SNAP!

Her body lurched forward, the screams muffled into the cloth. Shit. My own leg was starting to ache with sympathy. “It's over, doll. It's over. Gotta stay still for the stimpak, though. It'll sting, but the worst is over. I promise. You trust me?”

Her torso hiccuped and shivered, but she assented wearily.

I slid the needle in just below her knee and pressed on the plunger. The way she swayed, I thought she was going to pass out on me. With the stake in her arm, I repeated the procedure: disinfect, remove, stimpak—though this one required two. It'd torn more muscle than I'd expected.

No way we were getting into Fort Hagen tonight.

We set up camp in an abandoned building and I let her rest for the night. Though 'rest' was the wrong word when all she did was fidget and whimper and cry in her sleep. Those kind of dreams were all too common to folks out here. With Raiders and feral ghoul attacks, not to mention the occasional synth raid, people were on edge. Scared, even in the so-called haven of their dreams. Even though I didn't technically dream, whenever I ran my nightly diagnostics, some part of Old Nick would flash in and vanish like a specter. Memories. His voice. A quick thought. Jenny.

Light was pouring in through the slats of a boarded-up window when I heard her stir. She grabbed her thigh and made a face that made me think the Med-X was wearing off. Bad situation we were in. The feral ghouls wouldn't be too much of a problem in the broad daylight, but the Super Mutants would still be roaming and sniffing about. Not to leave out random packs of Raiders looking for a place to squat.

“Want another dose?” I asked. “That was just a quarter, what you had there.”

She eyed the syringe for a second.

“Yeah,” she croaked out. “I gotta... I think... I'm pretty sure I broke a rib, too.” The buckles to her overalls snapped open. The bib flopped down and she pulled the flannel shirt up enough to confirm her theory: a huge purple bruise was blooming over her right side. The impact likely snapped her floating ribs, and, if she was lucky, that was all it had done. She hissed out at the sting of the needle; I noticed she looked away when I pressed it down. Not a fan, huh?

Later, she was grabbing at her bag and fumbling through it. “I need to change. I can't go out after Kellogg like this.”

“If you think we're going out with you in this state at all, you hit your head too hard.”

“But, he's right there!” Her fist smacked the concrete floor. “We can't just stay here when he could be... God, who knows what he's done to Shaun?”

“We'll hop on that boat when it gets here. Right now, you'd get everyone killed with that bum leg of yours. And coming up with all these theories ain't gonna do nothing but drive you crazy.” I'd know.

“So, what? You expect me to sit here for two months when my son could be 300 feet away from me in that building?”

“Not what I said. We need to wait until you can walk a few feet without falling over. And quietly.” From what I could tell, she counted on her stealth. With her leg in that condition, she wasn't getting past anyone. Unless she had a couple of Stealth Boys handy. I doubted it. Those things cost more caps than an average person could afford.

It seemed she agreed with my assessment since she went quiet again.

“Gimme your jacket,” she said, and I heard her rustling through the bag again.

“What, are you cold?”

“If you expect me to sit on my ass, you better give me something to do. And if I have to stare at that hole in your jacket the entire time, I'm gonna go nuts.” On her lap was, I assumed, a sewing kit. She held her hand out, palm up, opening and closing it at me. “Hand it over, Valentine.”

Whatever got her to calm down. I slid it off and handed it to her. It was a good coat, in my humble opinion; it'd seen me through several cases, various attacks—both from angry mobs thinking I was working for the Institute and from people angry with all my snooping around. Besides, a man's gotta look the part for his job: what says "detective" better than a fedora and a trenchcoat? A Goodneighbor friend of mine insisted on a deerstalker hat and a pipe. We agreed to disagree.

"Listen," she said as she pulled the thread through the fabric in the dim light. "Piper told me earlier... I mean _after_ we met." Holding the needle between her lips, she tugged at the two panels, then kept sewing. "I apologize for calling you an..." Her gaze flickered toward me briefly, before returning to her work. "Well, _you know..._ Look, I didn't know it was a slur, but that's no excuse."

Oh, was that all that was worrying her? "Trust me, doll. I've been called worse."

"It doesn't matter," she insisted, and this time she stopped to hold my gaze. "It was wrong. I'm sorry. And I won't do it again."

I was starting to find out that one of the many abilities Ms. Vidal had was the ability to render me completely speechless. What was I supposed to say to that? I had no frame of reference for it and neither did Old Nick. She looked satisfied with my dumb nod since she went right back to work.

Now, I lacked the faintest clue of what Old Nick looked like, but there were always flashes of his life: fire, hoses, a crowd looking over him as some kids kicked the daylights out of him. Must've had it hard back then, too.

"He's waiting for us." Julia was trying to slide out of her overalls. By the crease between her eyebrows, with some difficulty. "Kellogg, I mean."

Smart girl. "How'd you figure?" I looked away, peering through the window slats. _Getting dark again._

"All those decoys? He knew I was gonna look for him. _Ah, shit..." _The tops of her thighs sported black and blue splotches, over a strange raised patch of skin. She didn't seem too alarmed by it, so it must have been something she was used to.

Julia looked up at me.

I wasn't supposed to be looking, was I? I turned away again, feeling the circuits at my neck go hot. Before I could get out an apology, she pointed to her bag.

"Get me another pair of jeans, will ya?"

The denim pants in the bag had all sorts of pins on them, running down the insides of the legs. The waistband had vee-shaped cuts in the sides and back with elastic attached.

"Were you a seamstress before you got iced?"

"Nah." She took them and began sewing where the pins were. "Poor folks like me just had to do everything ourselves."

So, she wasn't gonna tell me where she was from. Fair enough.

"I, uh...worked at a drug store."

"No kidding?"

"Mm-hmm. They wanted to keep me working the soda fountains, but I picked a few things up. Around this season, they'd let me help compound certain drugs, make tinctures, decode whatever the doctor had scribbled down. That sort of thing. But most of the time, they had people like me sweeping and cleaning. Too afraid I'd steal something, or that I'd scare off customers."

"I don't know about scaring the customers, but if you picked locks back then like you do now, I can see why they'd suspect you."

Her face went blank for a minute. She was searching for something in me, in my eyes, my expression. Whatever it was, she didn't find it because she said, "I got locked out of my house a lot. I was scatterbrained back then if you can believe it."

Well, after getting surprised by a Super Mutant like that, I'd believe it. But I decided not to push my luck.

She finished tailoring the jeans and asked for my help in standing her up. Med-X must have been working just fine because, even though she swayed in my arms, she didn't protest at the brief pressure on her leg. I felt like I shouldn't be watching her wiggle into her change of clothes, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. And not for lechery. She could get a dizzy spell or take a wrong step and we'd be worse off. Old Nick was buzzing all kinds of “feelings” through my circuits. Flesh bouncing into place, spilling out of the flimsy black fabric keeping her modesty. From the way it gave in to the slightest of pressure, I'd bet an arm and a leg that it was soft. Silky. This may have been the one time I was glad I wasn't one of those Gen 3 synths—the automatic response to this sight would have made this trip uncomfortable for the both of us. As far as she knew, she had no reason to see me as “a man” and that may have been why the dame decided to strip down into her unmentionables and change in front of me.

I'd told her, hadn't I?

Ignorance was bliss, in her case.

* * *

I managed to keep her still for three days before she was crawling up the walls. She favored her left leg, but that was the best we could do. After sending Dogmeat off to a place she called “Sanctuary,” we headed toward the fort. This time, with a plan.

We'd used the downtime to scope the perimeter. There were several turrets we'd need to power down, but she wouldn't be able to access most of them, and we both agreed her shooting them down would be the worst idea since glow-in-the-dark sunglasses. (_Note to self: Find someone to teach this broad how to shoot before she leaves my care.)_ So, I went and took care of them on behalf of her.

I hadn't seen this many synths before. Gen 2s, all of them, swarming in like giant, gray-skinned bees. That they looked so much like me while droning on about Kellogg's plan to terminate us made them that much creepier. I didn't like the looks she was giving me. Nor the wincing in her face when we had to climb all those goddamn stairs.

“You need a rest? What hurts?”

“Everything,” she panted. Little beads of sweat were starting to collect over her forehead and her complexion had gone sallow, ashen. Her eyes were doing that scanning thing they did when she was considering something. From her bag, she handed me a fresh Med-X syringe while she palmed something else. Was that Psycho?

“Doll, listen, I know you're rarin' to get this bastard, but we can take it slow. Don't do—“

“—No, you listen to me.” She pointed. “That is my son in there and I'm gonna go get him. No matter what. Now, if you're going to help me, I need to inject these at the same time. But if you're not... Just take my caps and go back home.”

I'd be a bold-faced liar if I said I didn't think about it for a second. That Conrad Kellogg was bad news and if I didn't have to get involved to get paid... Well, it was tempting. But I couldn't leave her. The desperation in her voice, in her eyes. How many times had I been in her shoes? Not with my child on the line, of course, but desperate for help. For answers. I couldn't just leave her here. Not when she was injured. Not when she was so close.

Julia took a shaky gasp of air as both drugs filled her bloodstream. If I'd thought her eyes were dark before, they were the void of black space now, threatening to swallow me whole like a vacuum. Her breathing was steadier but heavy.

We went down the stairs and past more synths and turrets when the intercom went off.

“If it isn't my old friend, the frozen TV dinner.” Kellogg. That son of a bitch. “Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler.”

Slugs embedded into the wall, making divots in the concrete.

“I'll fucking kill you, you sonnovabitch! Where is Shaun?” she screamed. Well, they ain't call it “Psycho” for nothing.

No answer. I had to tug at her arm to signal her to keep going and she nearly knocked my jaw off.

“Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years. But I don't need a roommate,” he taunted. “Leave.”

Her constant screaming must have alerted every synth on the goddamn planet because they kept coming. Without Dogmeat to knock some over, there was only so much I could do. Julia, now in the throes of a full Psycho-rage, was more than happy to throw grenades at them, even if she missed. And she did. A lot.

“Remember, he's playing mind games. Keep sharp,” I said.

“I'm gonna fucking kill him!”

“Yes, you are. But, right now we need to focus.”

Through what looked like a garage gate, we found several terminals, rusted through. No use to us, but Julia insisted she wanted to shoot them anyway.

“Never expected you to come knocking on my door.” Did this guy ever shut up? “Gave you 50/50 odds of making it to Diamond City. After that? Figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.”

If this woman had hackles, they would have been raised on end.

“Bring it, you corn flake-assed motherfucker, hidin' out like the fucking little bitch you are! Where are you?”

I'd take a stab at it and say Ms. Vidal wasn't used to using such language, but it sure highlighted her peculiar accent. Not quite Bronx, but something like it.

“Look, you're pissed off. I get it. I do. But whatever you hope to accomplish here? It is not going to go your way.”

“Let's keep it moving. We're wasting ammo here,” I told her. As if that would stop her from slashing her machete across the synth corpse.

We found the armory password at a dead-end bathed in red light. It was there that I could tell the combination was wearing off. She could barely stand, holding herself up against the wall with one hand while the other clutched at her leg. I wanted to beg her not to do it, to stop and rest, but I knew what the answer would be. It was Buffout and Psycho this time. I couldn't watch, but I trusted she knew what she was doing.

Perhaps my trust was misplaced. She was no longer speaking any English. She was squawking what I was 95% sure were expletives in Spanish, threads of saliva forming between her canines and splattering out of her mouth. Whenever Kellogg came on to goad her on, she'd shoot the speaker. I decided staying out of her way was the wiser idea; there was the possibility I was going to have to carry her out of here. With the damage she was taking and doing to herself, she wouldn't be able to make it back to Diamond City. Her hands were shaking so badly, I had to do most of the unlocking. She preferred smashing things with the stock of her shotgun.

Kellogg spoke again when we reached a room decked out in the Old World flag. Must have been where one of the high ranking men stayed.“Okay, you made it. My synths are standing down. Let's talk.”

Talk was the last thing this lady was willing to do, I'd bet. The whites in her eyes were bloodshot and I could no longer see the brown in her irises. The way she was grasping her shotgun, I thought it'd snap in half.

There, aptly standing against piles of junk, Kellogg stood in all his smugness.

“So here we are. Funny, huh?”

Funny? He thought this situation was funny? Julia let out three shots and they all missed him.

“Shaun! Where is he? Where is Shaun? Give me my son, you fucking lunatic!”

He laughed.

“Right to it then, huh? Okay. Fine. Your son, Shaun. Great kid. A little older than you may have expected, but I'm guessing you figured that out by now. But if you're hoping for a happy reunion? Ain't gonna happen. Your boy's not here.”

The gun clattered to the floor, but her face was oddly blank. Like she was having trouble processing it or something. And then she took a step forward. And another. And another, and she leaped for him like a deathclaw, pinning him down to the ground. Still, he laughed, even though his skull had just smacked the concrete. Goddamn sociopath.

“Listen, lady. I couldn't take you to him even if I wanted to. Your son, he's in a place nobody can reach. Shaun's safe at home.” He craned his neck up to bring his face closer to hers. For a second I thought he'd kiss her. “In the Institute.”

The stock of her rifle smashed into his forehead with a crunch. When she'd picked it up and how I hadn't seen it—I'd been too busy keeping the synths off her. I'd heard things about Psycho, but I'd underestimated the enhanced agility. And, from the gray matter sputtering over the floor like droplets of a toddler's fingerpaint, the enhanced strength.

Over and over and over again, she beat what remained of his skull like she was digging a grave. For him. For herself. Her hope, maybe. No use stopping her now. So I let her tire herself out. And when she did, she let out a keening wail. I'd only heard that sound when I had to tell parents their missing child was dead. Inconsolable, deep from the pit of the soul. I lacked tears, but I was more aware of it than usual. Maybe because I wanted to join her. Not sure.

She didn't reject the hand on her shoulder, so I left it there until she wore herself out and keeled over. When I offered to administer her stimpaks and Med-X, she agreed. I left my jacket over her sleeping form.

What a mess. All this planning and chaos and constant fulfillment of Murphy's Law, for what? No one knew where the Institute was. That was what made them so sinister: no one knew where their base was, nor what their motives were, only that they liked screwing with people's heads and killing the occasional thousands.

Julia would be distraught to wake up covered in that son of a bitch's blood, so I figured I should at least take a clean rag to her face and hands. It was then I noticed the metallic gleam from the corner of my eye, where Kellogg's corpse was. Synthetic components or enhancements, wired to his spinal cord. What in the hell had the Institute done to him? And why? Although Gen 3s were impossible to pick out from a crowd of humans, so it shouldn't have surprised me that their little empire was building cyborgs, too.

That the Institute was involved at all complicated things for her. For everyone, really. She'd been through enough, in my opinion. Something told me that she wouldn't like what was waiting for her at the end of this road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we all knew Kellogg was going to die anyway. I doubt a hopped up SoSu would stand there listening to him blabber on. It's called Psycho for a reason: Slasher, when it's Med-X and Psycho, and Psychobuff when it's with Buffout. It was bound to make her do stupid things. And I may have tweaked the withdrawal effects a little for dramatic effect. If it's gonna make you that strong and fast, it's gonna make you that much more sluggish and tired when it leaves your system.


	4. It's All Over But the Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Julia arrive at the Memory Den to get some information on Kellogg's synthetic component, leading them down a dark rabbit hole neither of them wanted to go down, with lasting consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after The Ink Spots' "It's All Over But the Crying" (1947)
> 
> Warning for implied rape/rape threats and misogyny.

The trip to Goodneighbor was long and relatively quiet. Other than telling me she needed a break or some privacy to relieve herself, Julia hadn't spoken much since Fort Hagen. I noticed she kept rubbing at her temples. Withdrawal. From what I'd heard from my pal Hancock, it was hell: a throbbing headache, tremors, aches and pains everywhere, double vision, lethargy... It was a damn miracle she was upright after that back-to-back dose.

We arrived close to midnight when Goodneighbor's shadiest liked to roam about like roaches. I heard her grunt at the neon signs. Couldn't be doing much for that migraine.

"Hey," some crackpot yelled. "First time in Goodneighbor? Can't go walking around without insurance."

Julia walked past him like he wasn't even there. Good instinct.

"Keep it moving, buddy," I said. "My friend here's gotta helluva hangover and she ain't in the mood."

"I said hold up!" he insisted. And then he grabbed her hand and she stopped. There was a loud _thwack, _a howl of pain, and the guy's mouth and hands were covered in blood. Pretty sure his nose hadn't been shaped that way before. The scabbard in her hand must have done the trick. Apparently, machetes were great multitaskers. "You fucking _bitch!" _

"Whoa, whoa," I heard a familiar gravelly voice from the shadows say. "Time out." The cocksure stride into the light, all dressed in crimson red. The textured ropes of skin hanging off his cheekbones and a tricorn hat, to boot: Hancock, that son of a gun. “Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.”

“What do you care?” The crook spat. “They ain't one of us.”

Hancock, having a penchant for the dramatic, let out a sigh like he was disappointed in the guy. This was still Goodneighbor, wasn't it? This sort of thing must have happened every day. “No love for your mayor, Finn?” He took off his tricorn hat, dusted it off, then replaced it on his head. “I said let 'em go.”

“You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor.”

Where was Julia in all this? I looked around for her while Hancock murmured something. She had already made her way to one of the shops. Daisy's Discounts. If she was lucky, she'd find some Addictol and call it a night.

A dull thud brought me back to Hancock and Finn. Or, well, Finn's corpse. Hancock was busy wiping off his pocket knife. “Mayor's gotta make a point sometimes. You all—hey, where'd she go?” The flesh around his bare brows drooped in concern, or more disappointment, maybe.

“To Daisy's,” I said.

“Nicky!” He held out his arms and crushed me with them. “Good to see ya. What brings you to Goodneighbor, brother?”

“Had an appointment with Dr. Amari. She's gonna be seeing my client there, too.”

When he looked back, he loosened his grip and whistled. “That's some certified prime rib you're hoarding there.”

“She's a _client.”_

“So you and her ain't, you know...” He knocked his fists together and whistled in what had to be the most juvenile expression I'd ever seen.

“_No.”_

His jagged fingers adjusted those ridiculous frills on his shirt. “Great. Then you won't mind if I dip in.”

This ghoul had a death wish; I could've sworn it. “Didn't you see what she did to the guy before you?”

“Yeah.” He sniffed and flashed a wide grin. “Lucky for me, I ain't got much of a schnoz, to begin with. Wish me luck.”

My eyes would have fallen out of their sockets if I could roll them any harder. There, at Daisy's, I could see him chatting up Julia, who did not look impressed. Didn't look too shocked either; then, again, she'd seen other non-feral ghouls before: the Triggermen, some settlers we'd seen along the way.

Hancock returned with another of his trademark grins before passing me. Said something about coming to see him later. With the dame.

“We have a hotel room,” Julia said from behind me. She was stuffing her new purchases into her bag. The grayish areas under her eyes looked a little lighter. Must have gotten that Addictol after all. “That mayor cat said something about the Rexford?”

She could probably use some downtime before we went to see the good doc, so I went with her if only to prevent her from breaking some other man's nose.

* * *

I got to the Memory Den around noon. If Goodneighbor was seedy, then the Memory Den was the inside of a pomegranate (Old Nick would know.) From the peeling red paint exposing old brick walls, the dusty velvet curtains, and the plush Old World furniture, this place was considered one of the finer brothels in town.

“Well, well, Mister Valentine,” I heard Irma say in that smooth, husky voice of hers. She was sprawled over one of those fainting couch things, the feathers on her red dress barely hanging off her creamy shoulder. “I thought you had forgotten about little ole' me.”

I hadn't, and not for lack of trying. That Irma was something else, making a man like me feel like... well, a man. Not just a heap of broken plastic and scrambled memories. She had a gentle touch and a way of looking at you with so much warmth in those green eyes of hers. Like you meant everything in the world to her. I knew better; she was just that good at her job. And still, I couldn't help but notice how that contraption around her waist pushed up her breasts, full and plump and, as far as I remembered, soft to the touch.

“May have walked out of the Den, Irma, but I'd never walk out on you.” I adjusted my tie for the fourteenth time as if that would cool my circuits off.

She pouted— _God, that pout_ —and huffed. “Amari's downstairs, you big flirt. But I'd wait for about five minutes. It's that time again.”

Right. Noon. Doctor Supriya Amari would be praying at this hour. Religion was something I, again, had little reference for. Other than special occasions, I couldn't bring up much from Old Nick. Even if I could, I'd imagine what Amari's family did was different from his family.

Julia arrived maybe thirty minutes later, giving me and Irma some time to, uh... “catch up.” We headed downstairs for Amari's who was working on a terminal.

“I take it this isn't a social call,” she said. She must've heard our footsteps.

“I heard you can extract memories from a brain,” Julia said.

Amari frowned, giving her a look screaming of suspicion. I could imagine the look she'd give when she found out Julia had half a human brain stem in her bag. “Normally we only allow our clients to experience their own memories.” She doused me in the same look. “Now what's this all about?”

“We need a deep dig, Amari. But it's not gonna be easy. The perp, Kellogg, is already cold on the floor.”

The color blanched from the doctor's face. The backward step she took echoed in the cold brick room. “Are you two mad? Putting aside the fact that you're asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that brain simulators require intact,  _living _ brains to function?”

“Isn't there a way to make this work?” Julia asked, desperation weighing down her voice.

“This dead brain had inside knowledge of the Institute, Amari. The biggest scientific secret of the Commonwealth. You need this, and so do we.”

Amari sighed. “Fine. I'll take a look, but no guarantees. Do you...” She took a deep breath like she was holding back a wave of nausea. Had I been equipped with a digestive system, I would have too, when I ripped the dingus out of the stump of his spine. “Do you... have it with you?”

Julia offered the contraption, neatly wrapped up in a scarf. She'd insisted it'd be bad manners to hand off a body part to an innocent person without wrapping it up. Something about it being for the other's comfort.

I heard Amari mutter something in another language, but I'd bet my carburetor it was something along the lines of, “Dear God, I can't believe this shit.” I certainly couldn't.

“What is this? This isn't a brain... That's...” She squinted, holding the device between her double-gloved fingers. “The hippocampus. And this thing attached to it. A... neural interface?”

“Those circuits look awfully familiar.” Like mine. Only sleeker. Better. Faster.

“I'm not surprised. From what I've seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture.”

There was some silence in the room. I knew Amari was thinking the same thing I was, though I dreaded it. Connecting my brain to that of that psychopath wasn't something high on my list of hobbies. But if it'd help her, then...

“Nick might be compatible, even though he's an older model,” the doctor said. “If we're lucky, it should hook right in.” _Hook_, she said. Like there was anything remotely comforting about that word. “But even if this works, Mister Valentine would be taking on a tremendous amount of risk. We're talking about wiring something to his brain.”

Julia regarded me, all wide-eyed, teetering between hopeful and defeated. If I hooked this thing into me, we could find her son. But I might never wake up. Or, worse, maybe I would but as a different person.

“I...I can't do this,” she said. “There has to be another way.”

“No. I'll do it. Don't worry about me, ladies.” I was already doing that enough for the three of us. “Let's go.”

“Nick...” Julia said my first name for the very first time. That one syllable sent my pump aflutter. It was just my name, and yet it sounded like a song coming from her lips.

“We got a missing kid on the line. That's worth the risk to me.”

Amari nodded with her lips pulled into a straight, grim line. She motioned at the “Whenever you're ready, Mister Valentine. Just sit down.”

I did, despite all of my neural connections screaming at me not to. I managed a smile if only to comfort Julia, who was biting her bottom lip. “If I start cackling like an old, grizzled mercenary, pull me out, okay?” It was meant to have been a joke, but it only made her pace around the room. Dammit.

I felt fingers at my spine. Rubbery. “I need you to keep talking to me, Mister Valentine. Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire.”  _Way to comfort a guy, Amari._

Static buzzed behind my eyes, like a broken radio. Voices. Faces. More static. Jennifer smiled. What was she doing here? And she was gone. A room in white. A synth with my face.

“Are you feeling any different?” I heard Amari ask.

I rubbed at the dull throbbing at my temple. “There's a lot of... flashes. Static. I can't make any sense of it, doc.”

She sighed. “That's what I was afraid of. The mnemonic impressions are encoded—Ma'am,  _please_ sit down! Your pacing is distracting.”

The footsteps stopped and Julia sat, teeth tugging at the flaking cuticle on her thumb. “What—What does that mean?”

“It appears the Institute has one last failsafe. There's a lock on the memories in the implant. Like computer encryption, and we don't have the password.” Another few beats of silence and Amari continued, “A single mind wouldn't be able to crack it, but... what if we used two? We load both you and Mister Valentine into the memory loungers. Run your cognitive functions in parallel. He'll act as a host while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find.”

She was quiet for a moment, flinching when she pulled the cuticle away too hard. “Alright.” She stood up and went to the lounger. “Here?”

Amari hummed. “Remember... we only have a piece of the medial temporal lobe, and not the whole brain so, I doubt what you'll see will be... cohesive.”

The fabric of her blue checkered dress hissed against the velvet of the lounger as she sat back. Tears were brimming her eyes again. Probably scared as I was.

“See you on the other side,” I said.

She smiled at me and I felt her warm fingers curl around the metal of my hand. I left her to sit in the lounger across from hers, laid back and closed my eyes, hearing Amari's voice melting away into the blinding white light.

* * *

_The room smells like mold and old urine. There's a mattress below me. Mine. My entire collection of three Grognak comics are spread before me and Mom is listening to the radio. Something about the NCR. _

Mom. She knew how it was. She wasn't soft, but she loved me in her way. And she protected me from dad. Heh. That cost her more than a few beatings. I never knew what happened to her after I left. I didn't want to know. Not then.

_Dad yells to turn down the radio. He doesn't like loud things. Reading isn't loud. It keeps me out of his way._

I was such a dummy back then. What did I know about how the world worked? I think now she wanted me to kill him. I should have. Instead, I ended up running away. I told myself I wanted to find somewhere out from under the thumb of the NCR and all their rules. But, really, I was running from the guilt of not protecting her from Dad. Doesn't matter now, though.

_ Dad yells again. Says he's trying to sleep, but he sounds like an angry yao guai. It's the sound he makes before he gets the belt. _

* * *

_The scent of the roast Sarah made perfumes the air. My stomach is full, but the smell makes me want another serving. _

I was the worst thing that ever happened to her. If she'd never met me, she'd have stayed in the Hub, maybe hooked up with someone who didn't kill people for a living. Probably been happier than she was with me. Almost certainly lived longer.

_Even while washing dishes, wearing those raggedy plaid clothes, she looks beautiful. Even more beautiful when she picks up the crying baby. Our child. Our beautiful daughter, Mary._

* * *

“How did you think this was going to end, Kellogg?” _The voice asks me._

_The tunnel is musty and I can hear a drip of water echo in the far distance. I walk toward it, the weight of my automatic rifle keeping me grounded. This is it. I'm probably going to die now and I'm fine with it. As long as I can take them with me._

“You thought you could just fuck with us, and we wouldn't fuck with you? Just so you know, they died like dogs. And you weren't there to help them.”

_Like dogs. I'm no stranger to killing, nor torturing a person: physically or mentally. I can imagine what the Shi did to Sarah: Held her down. Made her watch while they killed Mary. Or worse, made Mary watch while they did all sorts of things to Sarah. Or so much worse. I feel bile burning in my throat._

_I kick open the door. Showtime._

* * *

_I'm at the bar at my usual table, a glass of whiskey in my hand. Tastes like watered-down shit. A few wastelanders are standing around me like they want something. One asks if they can sit down. I don't care as long as they got the caps for it._

I don't remember much from that time. It all kind of blends together. There was almost always a bar, though. That's universal.

I didn't care where I was going. Ended up mostly wandering east. Getting as far away from San Francisco as I could, maybe.

* * *

_That bitch in white is sitting behind the table like she's been waiting for me the entire time. Those creepy robot fucks are flanking her left and right. Bodyguards. _

“_Mr. Kellogg. I'm glad you decided to meet with me.” But I can feel the disdain radiating from her stare. Like she's better than me. Like I'm lower than those metal bodyguards of hers. I wanna tell her she can go fuck herself, but the pang in my stomach reminds me I haven't eaten in three days._

“_So you're with the Institute. I want to see for myself if you really existed.”_

I finally ended up in the Commonwealth. I kind of ran out of road, plus I'd come to terms with life. I wasn't going to be stupid enough to get mixed up with caring about other people again. It was just me against the world. And the world had it coming.

* * *

_Cold. It's a damn cryo facility. Rows of pods containing those pre-war bastards, frozen in all their ignorance of what they did to us. Probably didn't even see the fucking bombs drop, nestled in their cozy little containers, blissfully ignorant to the hell the rest of us had to live through. _

_One of the Institute eggheads manages to override the cryogenic sequence and I start peering into the pods._

I was now the Institute's main operator in the Commonwealth. If they needed something done, they came to me. It wasn't usual for anybody from the Institute to come along on a mission. So this one stood out. I didn't know then who it was we were grabbing from the Vault. Of course, neither did they. Not really.

_Another egghead in a suit taps the glass to a pod with a dark-skinned man holding an infant in his arms and informs me this is it. The cryopod hisses open and the man inside coughs, clearly out of it. Behind me, I can hear pounding but I ignore it. If this pod is the mission, I can't afford to get distracted._

Even then I knew it was a mistake leaving _her _alive. I understood that kind of revenge. No one better. But I was cocky enough to assume I could handle some soft, pre-war Vault dweller, even if she got thawed out.

At least I know those Institute bastards will soon get what's coming to them, too. If she could take me out, they won't be able to hide from her for long.

_The egghead looks like she can't handle the Vault dweller on her own, hands hesitating to even reach for the crying kid. When she finally grabs it, the father tugs back. Resists. I hate it when they do that. Makes things messy._

“_Is it over?” he asks._

“_Almost,” I say. “Everything is going to be fine.”_

_He still doesn't want to give up the kid._

“_Let the boy go. I'm only gonna tell you once.”_

“_I'm not giving you Shaun!”_

_Pity._

_One shot and his brains are all over the pod. I can taste cold blood in my mouth. I realize then I forgot to put the silencer on. Probably ruined the kid's hearing for life. They're definitely docking my pay from this._

“_Goddammit! Get the kid out of here, and let's go.”_

_I see who's been banging against her door when I turn around. Skin not quite as deep as the husband's, but darker than me. I can't hear her voice, but I can tell she's screaming, with her makeup running down her chin._

_The boy won't stop screaming. Probably from fright and the burst eardrum._

“_At least we still have the backup,” I say to myself._

* * *

_The kid, Shaun, is busy reading through some old comic books in my shack at Diamond City. Reminds me of myself at that age: quiet, but inquisitive. My chest hurts, and not at the memories of my childhood. _

It hadn't been my idea to settle down with a kid in the middle of Diamond City. I thought it was a terrible idea, actually. But it was one of the old man's pet projects, so here we were. Me and the kid like a happy little family. I ended up kind of liking it. A reminder of what my life might have been if things had turned out differently. But there's no going back. I knew it was temporary, and it would be back to normal business before too long.

_The lightning-like flash announces the Courser's arrival and I train my gun on him. He says my name like he's reading it off a shopping list._

“_One of these days you're gonna get your head blown off, just barging in like that.”_

“_Minimizing my exposure to civilians is a priority.”_

“_Forget I said anything. So what's the big crisis this time?”_

“_New orders for you. One of our scientists has left the Institute.”_

_I didn't even know that was an option._

“_Left as in?”_

“_He's gone rogue. Name's Doctor Brian Virgil. We know he's hiding somewhere in the Glowing Sea. Here's his file.”_

_I take the folder in my hand. Light. _

“_Wow. Some heads are going to roll for this. Capture and return or just elimination?” I ask him like he's making his choice on a fast-food menu._

“_Elimination. He was working on a highly classified program.”_

“_No kidding. One of the top Bioscience boys? Damn.” Shaun's eyes meet mine. My chest hurts again. “So... I guess you're taking the kid back with you.”_

“_Affirmative. Your only mission is to locate and eliminate Virgil.”_

_The kid perks up. “You're taking me home to my father?”_

“_Yes,” the Courser said. “Stand next to me and hold still.”_

“_Okay.”_

_He stands next to the tall, tall synth and gives me a gap-toothed smile. My chest hurts more. _

“_X6-88, ready to Relay with Shaun.”_

“_Bye, Mr. Kellogg! I hope I see you again sometime!”_

_There are two lightning flashes and then they're both gone. _

_My heart feels like it's splitting apart and I fight the knot in my throat. _

“_Bye,” I say to no one._

* * *

The halogen lights burned into my irises when I came to, their eerie hum buzzing along with the currents of panic tingling through my system. My vision was flashing. Static. Light. Static. Kellogg. Static. Light. Static. Jennifer.

“Get it out! Get this thing out of me!”

Amari was trying to comfort me, trying to get me to calm down, but I couldn't I just couldn't I—

_It's what ya get for fucking with me, Valentine._

“Get out! Get it out!”

The circuits at my neck were hot and I hated the way they moved around while she was disconnecting the implant from me, but I needed it out I couldn't stand—

_So much to unpack here, isn't there? Oh, I'm gonna make this fun. For me, that is. _

“He's still in here, doc! I can hear him!”

She held out the implant in front of me. “He's out. What's left is a mnemonic impression. It might last a few hours, but it should go away soon.”

_Tell that bitch I ain't going nowhere. I like it here. So neat and compartmentalized._

“_'Should' _isn't comforting me here.”

There was loud retching and then a thud on the other side of the room. Julia was waking up. Having a hard time, too, I imagined. Amari went to her side.

“Why don't you go on upstairs, Mister Valentine? Try and clear your head while she recovers.”

As if I wasn't trying to do that already. I went out to the balcony and puffed at a cigarette as if nicotine had any effect on me other than yellowing my teeth and flesh. I wanted to think it was comforting, but maybe it was just another “mnemonic impression” Old Nick left behind.

_Old Nick, huh? This should be good._

“Don't even think about it,” I said. A passerby on the street must have heard me because he was looking at me like I was crazy. Then again, from his perspective, it looked like I was talking to no one. It was all in my head. Kellogg was all in my head. No, Kellogg was in my head. That was the problem.

_Mm. Who's Jennifer? Looks good. I like redheads._

A walk. I needed to take a walk. I heard Irma say something on my way out but I couldn't. Not with this bastard in my head. I felt so sick, I vaguely recalled what the feeling of nausea was like.

_She had real nice tits. Anything more than a handful is a waste, y'know. Oh, and you know Eddie Winters remarked on them in the note he left you? _

I froze. He was digging up everything. The neat files I'd compressed everything into. The partitions I'd put up to keep me sane and functional. Something told me this “mnemonic impression” crap was a bunch of hooey. No, I couldn't go around like this. Amari needed to fix me.

“Did you change your mind, Mister Valentine?” Irma looked at me from over her shoulder.

“Ah...I just...I need a place to sit.”

Her expression fell flat and she shrugged. “Be my guest.”

I took a seat on one of the couches and closed my eyes. I couldn't let him break down the compartments like that.

_Listen here, you son of a bitch. We killed you in real life and I can just as easily get rid of you here._

_Oh yeah? That's cute. Real cute, Valentine._

“Nick?” Julia's voice yanked me out of that space. She hadn't looked this bad since she'd snapped her leg.

But before I could answer, I felt my body freeze. I couldn't move. The back of my head, where the implant had been, felt like ice.

Her lips were trembling. She leaned over.

“Kellogg?” she asked. “Is that...you?”

The cold feeling thawed out. Why had she just called me Kellogg?

“What? What are you talking about?” I asked.

She backed away, scrutinizing me. It was the way she'd looked at me when we'd first met. It didn't feel good.

“You... feeling alright, Nick?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Now there was a lie if there ever was one. “Why?”

“You sounded like Kellogg just then.”

Damn. “Did I? Amari said there might be some 'mnemonic impressions' left over...”

_Do I feel like a fucking impression to you?_

_You feel like a goddamn brain tumor. Now shut up._

“Anyway, I feel fine, so let's get going.”

Julia shook her head. “I... I need to rest. I gotta... This is a lot.”

“So, head on over to the Rexford.”

She nodded, messing with that bleeding cuticle again. “Maybe... Maybe you should go back to Diamond City for now.”

“You mean we're not going to the Glowing Sea?”

“I...I don't know, I...” She took a deep breath. “I gotta come up with a game plan. And...you have Ellie and Piper and—and Nat...” There was a lot on her mind if the speed her eyes were darting told me anything. She went through her bags and I could hear the caps clinking together.

But I knew better. “It's the Kellogg thing.”

She wouldn't even look at me. That's what hurt the most. Not only did I have Kellogg's slimy voice stuck rummaging through my head, but now I'd lost her trust.

_What do you care, huh? You think she trusted you to begin with? Have you seen yourself lately? Not really romancing material, buddy. _

Maybe it was for the best. There was no telling if and when Kellogg would hijack my body again, use it against me. Hurt her more, even. I was a menace in this state.

“Here,” she said, handing me a heavy handful of caps wrapped in clean, scrap cloth. She managed to look at me, though the fear tugging at the lines of her eyes hurt more than the avoidance. “Thank you, Nick. For everything.”

“I can't take this,” I said, handing it back to her. And it was true. I'd done this just to help her. And, maybe, just to touch her hand one last time, to have something to remember her by. “You saved my ass back in the Vault. Consider us even, doll.”

From the way her lips twitched, I could tell she wanted to say something. But she didn't. Julia nodded, squeezed my hand, and then swiveled to leave.

_You gonna leave that fine piece of ass leave just like that? Look at it. Just look at that._

_I swear I will put a bullet in my own head just to shut you up._

_But you won't. They're gonna kill your girl out there. Just like they did Jennifer. Whether it's the Raiders or the Super Mutants in the Glowing Sea, or the fucking Institute itself. They're going to use her and rip her to shreds. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna be here a while. And I'm gonna make your life hell while you watch her get torn apart. And once she's dead, and only once she's dead, will I let you off yourself._

I needed to go see Amari, P.D.Q.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Goodneighbor, home of the Goodneighbor, do you want some Mentats? ;)
> 
> We'll see more departure from canon from now on. I always wondered what would happen if Kellogg stayed in Nick's brain for longer than Amari had anticipated. And yes, I gave her a first name and Bengali ancestry because I can and I did. 
> 
> Also, for those who are following the Preston fic, I SWEAR I haven't abandoned it. His fic is the one I have planned out the most, tbh. I just have to get to Hancock and MacCready before Julia goes back to Sanctuary. And then each fic will become more stand-alone, in the proper Choose Your Own Adventure manner.
> 
> I heard P.D.Q. on The Maltese Falcon and I *had* to use it (and subsequently Google it because English ain't my first language.) 
> 
> ((It means "pretty damn quick."))


	5. Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a desperate attempt at removing Kellogg's mnemonic impressions himself, Nick winds up with his head in a bigger mess than when he began. Julia only winds up making it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been trying to keep music in the 40s, 50s, and 60s eras but John Mayer's "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" helped me with the angst. 
> 
> Warning for implied non-explicit sexual content, violence, a reference to rape, internalized racism/colorism and implied (non-sexual) child abuse.

Amari had said the mnemonic impressions might last a day or two. Fourteen days, twelve hours and twenty-two minutes had passed and Kellogg was still wreaking havoc in my head like a bored kid throwing a tantrum in an office room. My head hadn't been this messed up since I'd woken up in that trash pile. I insisted she take another look, though I could already tell from the frown on her face that she was just as at a loss as I was.

"Hold still for me."

Where was I going to go? Back to Hancock's to drive my head through a wall?

Static prickled at the back of my eyes and down what remained of my neck as she hooked me back up to the monitors.

"I'm thinking maybe you can seal him off."

"You think I haven't tried?"

"I meant the same way you've sealed off...other...memories."

Partitioning. She meant partitioning, a process that had taken me some years to perfect: taking a set of data (or memories, if you will), sealing it away in a neat little compartment like a file in the drawer of a cabinet, and storing it away for later use at my convenience. Instead of having all those memories dashed all over the floor like old cut-up photographs during the process of a messy divorce, like they were right now.

"But you'll have to go in there yourself. I can't do it for you."

I sighed. The dizzying prospect of walking through the vast hallways of my memories while chasing a rogue sociopath wasn't the most appealing idea, but if that would get me enough clarity to seal the current cases I had in my hands, I'd do it. "Whatever it takes."

_You don't have what it takes, Valentine._

There was static and then it was dark.

* * *

I could hear the echo of footsteps, hurried and high pitched. High heels. Jenny had always been in a hurry, always late. Managed to finish her work flawlessly, but always late. I liked to think her attention to detail was what attracted her to me the most. Always remembered every date, everything I liked, things I'd said in passing. Few people had ever afforded me those kindnesses. To me, Jennifer Lands had been a saint.

_But, man, did she moan like a whore._

There she was writhing beneath me, fingers clawing down the flesh on my back, lips parted and spilling out whimpers she reserved only for my ears, saying my name like she depended on it. It was a memory I might have enjoyed on my own, but one too holy for _this_ version of me to view. Certainly too precious for Kellogg to have his filthy paws on it.

I tried to close the door on it.

_Stop it, Kellogg!_

_But there's so much more to her that I haven't seen. Oh, this one looks really good._

As soon as the door slammed shut, another opened and hit me with sensations I hadn't felt in centuries.

Her voice mingled with the sound of crashing ocean waves. Hidden in the cover of night, but every curve of hers bathed in the rays of the nearby streetlights. It was the one time I was thankful to be a cop, to enjoy this thrill in a parked car without too many repercussions like a couple of rowdy teenagers. The gold crucifix on her necklace, tapping against the middle of her chest glinted with every movement of her hips.

_Liked to do it out in public like a slut._

_You son of a bitch..._

The door slammed shut and six more flew open.

"Baby, Armand's is closed,” she said over the payphone. “Let's just go to a diner tonight.”

“What do you mean it's closed?” I was stuck at my desk. Paperwork.

“I don't know. They said someone torched it late last night.”

Wailing police sirens, and I hadn't turned them on. The car came to a stop. I was in the back. My partner was giving me that look: the look I gave families when I had to take them to identify a loved one at the morgue. A look that said, _“It's bad. Are you ready?”_

The alley between Frenchie's Diner and Kincaid's Pub was making me awfully claustrophobic like the sweaty brick walls were going to crush me at any moment. Maybe I wanted them to. Three officers and Captain Widmark stood by the rusted green dumpster, hats in their hands. Condolences. It wasn't Jennifer. It couldn't be Jennifer because we had just talked a few hours earlier and she was always late.

The lid screeched open. A bruised hand was sticking out of the piles of garbage. Her engagement ring, that big stone sparkling in the light.

I knew where Kellogg wanted to take me next, but I couldn't let him open that door. I wouldn't let him.

Mrs. Lands raised her hand to slap me.

The skin on my face stung. A cold, wet cloth soothed the burn from the aftershave. Jenny was smiling at me from the mirror, her hands massaging the ache from my shoulders.

“You're gonna do great, babe. They're gonna love you.”

I'd forgotten what I looked like. So much darker than Jenny. A broad, aquiline nose: equal parts mom and dad. My hair was mostly from my father's side, though. I'd spent so much time trying to loosen the tight coils into loose curls, like my mother's. Jenny had once claimed it was because I was vain, but she wouldn't have understood. She never needed to fit in or blend in. Not like me, anyway.

“One look at your eyes and you'll charm the pants right off of 'em.”

Sunflower eyes, she'd called them. Muddy green with a spiked ring of amber and gold around the pupils. They looked like shit to me, but I was happy she liked them.

I looked behind me and I was back in the morgue. Cold, sterile halogen lights over a cold, sterile white floor and white, sterile walls. The acrid smell of chlorine, tempered with a hint of decaying flesh overwhelmed my nostrils.

The drawer slid out.

_Don't do this, Kellogg._

_You're just too easy to fuck with._

A body lay under the white sheet. The toe tag said all I needed to feel panic rush like ice water in my veins.

_Come to think of it, so was Jenny, huh?_

Kellogg, pixelated and fading, ripped the sheet off her body and she was lying on the cold wet streets of Boston. The pink dress I'd given her for her birthday was torn at the bodice, undergarments with it. There was so much blood all over her body. So much blood. Down her torso and legs. So much blood. I felt acid burn my throat. The bastards had dropped her off here only to shoot her in the back. All that torture with a bullet in the head as a punchline.

_They had so much fun with her. Did so many things you would never even think of._

I swung my fist and hit a wall. Nick's attachments and morals and values clung to me like old barnacles. This was his business. Jennifer was never mine. All of those memories were his. This had nothing to do with me, other than me wanting these damn files closed.

Kellogg had screwed around enough. There had to be a way to corner him, to do what he was doing to me. But what did I have on him, other than proof of his crimes and...?

I willed the memory of a belt into my hand. I folded the leather in half, brought the ends close together and then snapped them apart.

Kellogg went quiet.

A dirty trick, but it had to be done and I was getting pretty goddamn tired of being locked inside my own head. The memories of his I'd seen. The very first one: a young Conrad reading his comic books on his piss-stained bed. His mother sat beside him watching the news, or something. Outside, his father slurred something about the television being too loud.

Still quiet.

_Now, what would have happened if I'd let that memory play even longer?_

Nothing. That's what I'd thought.

_He was going to come in there, wasn't he?_

Since he wasn't answering, I opened the door to his room and stepped through the hallway of dirty, orange shag carpeting and peeling wallpaper.

_Was he going to beat your ass the way I'm about to?_

I slammed open the first door. The remaining Shi were shooting back at him. Wrong memory. I closed the door and kept moving, snapping the belt.

_Where are you, Connie? No witty comebacks? I gotta say I'm disappointed._

The next door held Shaun's smile. Jarring, but the wrong memory. He wasn't where I wanted him. Not yet.

_See, I think he was going to beat your mother first, and then you. Am I getting that right?_

The door at the end of the hall led me to a completely blank room. The walls nor floor had any texture. Just a clean, quiet compartment. And there in the corner was Conrad Kellogg in the form of a child, cowering. Hoping not to be seen.

I knew that feeling. Or, rather... Old Nick did. Because all these memories I had, the people I loved... They were Nick's. Not mine.

The belt in my hand brought a stab of guilt into my stomach. It was enough. Kellogg, or the version that could harm me, had disintegrated. And within a few days, the pathetic cowering version of what remained of him would too.

I walked out and locked the door behind me.

And I was back in the Memory Den again.

* * *

It took me the entirety of six days to clean up the mess Kellogg had left behind, and even then, random memories liked to spring from their confinements and overload my systems. Times like those, I thought I should have been the one to smash that bastard's head into mush.

Memories of Jenny and the crime scene were the most invasive of them. Hancock mentioned I'd been talking and blanked out for a moment. As I recalled, Old Nick—the _real _Nick had moments like that, too. Flashbacks. Kind of like out of body experiences. Whatever they were, they were becoming too frequent for my comfort.

I'd foolishly thought coming to The Third Rail would soothe me somewhat, though I suppose I'd forgotten I had a tolerance to alcohol close to immunity. And yet there I was, another washed-out chump trying to rinse his problems away with a glass of scotch.

Magnolia's voice was always a treat, though. She stood there all velvet and glitter in her red dress, singing a song sad enough to make a Mister Gutsy shed tears. Unfortunately for me—and many of us—Whitechapel Charlie had for some unknown reason decided an open mic night was in order, so the next singer wasn't as...refined. More like rusty nails to a chalkboard than Magnolia's bluesy smooth tunes.

A drunken drifter yelled for them to get off the stage.

I saw Hancock sitting among the crowd of drifters and admirers, failing to keep a low profile. The phrase “low key” was not in his lexicon. From the strain on his grin, this was one of the times his charisma and appeal were working against him. One of his errand boys, a merc by the name MacCready, sat in a far off booth by himself, nursing his own glass quietly. Other than when he was trying to get something out of a person, the kid pretty much tended to keep to himself.

“Got any rum yet, Charlie?” I hadn't noticed Julia until she leaned over the counter, though I was pleased to see the cuts and bruises on her face had healed up, as had the limp from the injury at Fort Hagen. She must have not seen me. Better this way. I couldn't sure she was in a good place right now.

“For the last bloody time, no.”

She sighed, and I detected the scent of wine mingling with the flowery aroma of her perfume. Jenny hated perfume. Said it gave her migraines. I... Nick always thought she smelled nice. I couldn't quite bring up the smell, and that was fine. One less memory to put away.

I made eye contact with her, holding a new glass of wine in her hand, and she smiled at me.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“I should be asking you that same question.” She sure looked it. The crisp white blouse with black polka dots contrasted with the gleaming copper of her skin, made her eyes stand out like they were a play on the pattern. She wore a pair of black slacks fitted at her waist. And, well... At the rest of her body, too. I had to put my whiskey down. Must have been getting to my head for once. Where had this effect been when Kellogg was around?

Julia held her arms out like she was displaying herself. “Fit as a fiddle.”

She wasn't kidding, either. She'd put on some muscle on those arms and legs of hers, or at least the parts peeking out of her cropped slacks. Someone had been working hard. Not too hard, hopefully. Hancock had mentioned getting her with a few people to burn off steam, strengthen her back up. Glad to see he was still a man of his word.

Her red lips wrapped around the glass one last time—was I starting to envy a glass?—and she headed for the stage through a multitude of cheers and boos, clearly buzzed off her rocker from the way she swayed her hips and arms. Or maybe that was on purpose. The print of her lipstick lingered over the glass. She leaned over to whisper something into the pianist's ear before stepping up to the mic.

Her expression changed from that of the unsure woman I'd seen throughout our trips to Fort Hagen and Goodneighbor, to a dazzling, cunning smirk that narrowed her eyes into a fox-like gaze. Like she was someone completely different. Was she used to putting on personalities as easily as changing clothes? I wondered. Might have been why she'd initially struck me as so familiar.

There was a simple piano tune in the background—I wasn't much of a music guy, other than enjoying it, so I wasn't sure what the term was for it. But once she started singing, I figured the original tune was much more complicated. Or rather, Nick remembered it. Some Spanish song that had become popular back in the day. Sinatra had covered it, as had many other artists, but this one...

Something sorrowful and yearning in the depth of her voice made my chest want to ache. Something in the way her eyes swept over me made my fingers itch to reach out to her, to comfort her. Made me want to do things my body was no longer designed to do, but damn, was it trying its best. I tore my eyes away from her and focused on downing the last drops of my whiskey. I had to distance myself and quickly. From what, I wasn't sure anymore. It wasn't like we had anything. I was attracted to her based on Old Nick's preferences. That was all. Nothing else. And that meant nothing. Just Old Nick muddying up the works again.

_B__é__same Mucho. _That was the name of the song, Nick reminded me. Something about kissing. Didn't matter. It was over and the whiskey was good and I had work to do now that my head was clear. Yup. Clear as daylight.

Jenny was suddenly looking up at me. We were dancing in the living room of my—_Nick's_ house. This song was playing in the background.

My eyes burned and I rubbed at my eyelids. Time to go.

Someone else was on. The jukebox this time. I was awash with gratitude that ordeal was over.

Magnolia had apparently grabbed Julia and asked her to dance because they were both on the floor, swaying to the sensual beat. Was there _no one _Julia couldn't charm? She might as well have been a mislabeled bottle of poison. Made me think helping her had been a dangerous oversight on my behalf.

_ Jealousy, _ Nick reminded me.

_It is _not_ jealousy._

_Pal, it's jealousy. Trust me._

When had he gotten out of his partition? This dame was messing me up worse than Kellogg.

And then she dipped Magnolia down in a dramatic flourish. Mags looked up at her, wide-eyed, before bringing her down for a kiss and I nearly crushed the glass in my hand.

_Told ya._

I had to go. A few more diagnostics and Nick would shut up long enough for me to sort this out. I couldn't have him mucking up my processes if Shaun's case was going to get solved cleanly. And at the end, Julia and I would part ways, our self-respect intact, and I'd go back to working and saving the Commonwealth one case at a time and she'd—

“Oh _my!” _she laughed before collecting her wine glass and taking another sip. “Now _that..._That was something I hadn't done ever done before.”

“You sure seemed like a natural,” I said, collecting my hat to leave.

“Really?” She giggled at a secret thought of hers, or something else. “I guess women weren't really an option for me back then.”

Oh. She'd meant... Of course.

“Hey, you probably remember prewar songs, right?”

If I had an ounce of color, it would have drained out of my synthetic skin. “Well, yeah, but...”

Too late. She grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the dance floor, where a few other inebriated drifters were struggling to sway to the beat.

“Let's see if you remember how to dance.” Me? I wouldn't remember anything. Nick would, but it wasn't like those memories were mine. She was beaming up at me and I felt my heart falter. “Show me whatcha got, Valentine.”

I'd wrapped my arm around the small of her back without even thinking about it.

_Just go with it. _

It was like I was back in Nick's living room, lights down low, radio thrumming an old, slow tune. With Jenny in my arms, looking up at me like I was the only man in the world, dancing in our socks without a care in the world. Except Julia didn't look a damn thing like her, save the freckles, maybe. She didn't rise on her tiptoes to kiss me, nor did she whisper anything in my ear to try to make me blush. But she hadn't broken eye contact.

There was neither a smile nor a frown, but her lips were parted like she wanted to say something. Or holding back. I could never tell with this dame. I spun her, and that seemed to surprise her enough to earn myself a giggle from her. And damn, did it make the coolant run faster through my systems.

For a moment I was back in that living room, but Jenny was no longer there. It was all Julia. All sly smiles and coy glances, drawing me to her. And I realized then my predicament: I'd willingly walked into the web of a Black Widow spider, and with each sway of her hips she was getting closer, closer to sinking her teeth into me. A fool. I was a damned fool.

The song faded away and the lights got brighter. Something like hope or amusement made her eyes shine under her smile. “Thanks for the trip down memory lane, Daddy-O.”

We let go of each other and my body protested the loss of warmth, her warmth against me. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. I needed to get out of here, have a smoke, anything to get my mind off what was happening.

I heard her complain to someone behind me, but I kept walking, even after I heard Hancock yell something back. The Third Rail was too small, too crowded and loud and I couldn't, I just couldn't...

The cigarette shook in my hands as I tried to light it. Couldn't get the damn thing to stay still long enough for it to catch.

Nick and Jenny were slow dancing in their living room again. She was looking up at him like he held all her hopes and dreams in his eyes. Must have been nice. Wouldn't know. I insisted I didn't want to know because this wasn't any of my business and I wanted to distance myself as far away from this as I could because he wasn't me, I wasn't that Nick.

Or maybe I was.

Goddamn it, my head was a mess again.

The warm cigarette smoke was a gray-white cloud in the frigid December air. Another white puff came from below. Julia was sitting on the steps near me, wrapped in a leather jacket three sizes too big.

“Mind if I join ya?” she asked.

“Suit yourself.” Not like she hadn't helped herself already.

Other than the icy whistle from the wintry gusts, there was silence between us. It was better this way, perhaps. We both had a lot to think about after all we'd been through. So I took another drag of my cigarette and let the warm bittersweet smoke slip through my lips and nostrils.

“I...haven't exactly been fair to you,” she said.

Her head was resting against the brick wall of the entrance, thick lashes shielding a distant stare.

“You've helped me so much. With Shaun, I mean. Finding him. And after that thing with Kellogg, I don't know.” She sighed. “I panicked. I didn't know what to think. But I wasn't fair to you. I shouldn't have pushed you away like that.”

Fidgeting with her hands, which must have been freezing cold, she hid them in the too-long sleeves of her jacket.

“You probably needed help too, having that..._thing_ in your head.” Julia raised her head to look at me. “Is he gone?”

I nodded. “Took his sweet time, but he's gone for good.”

“That's good to hear.” She shifted around, leaning against the wall. I decided to sit next to her, though my legs weren't as comfortable on the ground as she seemed to be.

“Goodneighbor treating you well?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it's no paradise, but I can see things for what they are. I don't really like secrets.”

We looked at each other and must have been thinking the same thing because we both laughed.

“You don't say,” I said. “Look, there's no hard feelings here, doll. We both needed some time to sort things out after all that.”

I noticed her lipstick had faded. One too many cups. Maybe a few too many kisses. On the other hand, I didn't want to know. The answer wouldn't bring me any solace anyway.

“But, if you're feeling like making it up to me, there is something you can do for me.”

The stiff fabric of her trousers scraped against the concrete steps, and she was leaning toward me attentively with that spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“There's this chunk of Nick Valentine history I've been hoping to put a bow on for a while now. I could use a hand if you're willing to take a crack at it.”

“Playing gumshoe with a bonafide detective. I like it,” she said with a purr. Another one of her personas, maybe? “What's the case?”

“This one's straight out of the archives.” I told her about Nick—Old Nick—moving to Boston and getting assigned to the Eddie Winter case, with Winter being the biggest mob boss at the time. “Turns out he sealed himself inside a personal shelter located underneath the sub shop he used as a headquarters.”

“Like... a meatball sub, type of sub shop?”

“Meatball, pastrami, brisket... Anyway, Winter had this obsession with living forever. Guess he was hoping to come out of that shelter someday into this brave new world.” I explained the radiation experiment he took part in, how he may have been the first Ghoul. “See, I'm convinced he's still locked in that shelter. Safe and sound. Ready to come out and begin his evil reign again.”

“He's gonna have a lot of competition, then.”

“What I'm trying to say is that I'm gonna find him and kill him so that never happens. You in?”

She was giving me that arched look again like she knew I wasn't telling her the full story. “Sounds to me like it's personal.”

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “No, I guess it doesn't.” I felt her elbow press against my side. “But is it?”

Personal didn't come close to touching it. Or maybe it did. “I've got memories of a... of a girl. My girl. They're not really my memories. They're Nick's. But the girl...she was real.”

Jenny's smile flashed before my eyes again. Beautiful. Innocent.

“Winter killed her,” I said forcing my voice steady. “Now he's got to pay the price.”

Julia was still examining my face like there was something else. I'd told her everything, hadn't I?

“Okay,” she said. “Let's go get Winter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you wanted to listen to the song Julia was singing: 
> 
> https://youtu.be/MY0fuEfBmD4
> 
> The singer is mislabeled. While the song was composed by Consuelo Velásquez, the singer is Brazilian-Japanese artist Lisa Ono, whose voice I'm using as Julia's because, why not?
> 
> Your comments and kudos are deeply appreciated and cherished forever.


	6. I'll Be Seeing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Eddie Winter to get his due.
> 
> In the process, Nick discovers something disturbing about Julia and he isn't sure he can trust her anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Titled after Billie Holiday's "I'll Be Seeing You."
> 
> Warning for a brief mention of rape.

The scent of mold was heavy in the air of the BADTFL regional office—although the acrid stench of Raider piss did enough to cut through it. If that Pip-Boy thing was correct, then this should be the location of the last holotape and we could finally get through to that bastard Eddie Winter's hideout. I hadn't felt this excited since Irma had experimented with the wires in the back of my head. 

We got in and split up; I took the main offices and Julia went to the basement. Quicker that way.

The gaudy green wallpaper made another memory pop up: Nick's first day as an awkward rookie with ears too big for his head, fresh out of the academy, trying to find his desk in an ocean of cubicles. What remained of a dinged up typewriter reminded me of the long shifts stuck in a bureaucratic nightmare.

_Good thing I got out of this dump when I did._

At least Nick had something positive to say for once. The conversation in my head made me careless enough to trip a turret, and it began spitting bullets my way like I'd insulted its mother. It shattered into sparks and fragments of plastic and metal after a few rounds of my own.

“You okay up there?” I heard Julia call from downstairs.

“Everything's hunky-dory over here. How about yourself?”

She didn't answer. Strange. She'd been unlike herself since we'd left one of the older precincts: spacey, stiff, and quiet. Then again, maybe I didn't know the real her. Maybe I never would.

The way she was shuffling through papers was not like her, either. Julia was usually careful enough that she could sneak up on a housecat or a bloatfly. I could hear papers tearing and crumpling, files smacking onto the ground, squeaky drawers being ripped open and slammed shut. Something had her spooked; I was sure of it.

“Is this it?” she shouted. She raced up the stairs, breathless, looking a little green and yellow around the eyes and cheeks. Now if that wasn't panic...

She held out a square cassette to me and suddenly it didn't matter. This was it. The last number. It slid into the terminal with a solid pop and the green letters flashed onto the black screen one by one. A click and Winter's sleazy voice rang in my ears. Something about an Aleksandr Strelnikov.

_ Old Russian mafia boss,  _ Nick chimed in.

And the number one. That was the missing number. That was it: we were going to get that son of a bitch and I was going to put a bullet in his skull.

I looked up to see if she'd caught the number, but she was nowhere to be seen. From the sound of frantic rummaging, I figured she was just looking for more ammo.

Right before I exited the terminal, I noticed a few other files: in particular the one marked “CASE 155-H Winter Informant Log.”

I couldn't help myself. I had to click it.

**Picking up a lot of chatter recently from Eddie Winter's boys asking after a Jennifer Lands of South Boston.**

**Jennifer Lands.**

**J e n n i f e r L a n d s**

The name made me feel like I was sinking through the floor, like I was in freefall from a bomber plane. Jennifer Lands. Her name was on file.

_They knew about Jenny. They knew about us._

**Request made to superiors to fast-track the two of them for witness protection (or at least inform them of danger) but request was denied. Higher-ups don't want to compromise ongoing BADTFL investigation.**

They'd denied them witness protection. They'd denied them the basic courtesy of a warning.

_They knew and they didn't tell me. They _knew.

Nick was hysterical, inconsolable. I couldn't think like this. Not when he was screaming. Not when there was this much noise.

"I found a mini-nuke," Julia said in a tiny voice that made me think that wasn't all. I looked up at her and she averted her eyes from me. "Look, um...I—I found something else that I think you should hear."

Another holotape slid over to me, her small hand over it shaking.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I'll be fine once I put Winter in the ground." Whether that was me who said it or Old Nick, I wasn't sure anymore. Once the tape started playing, I realized why this had her so nervous.

Captain Jonathan Widmark admitted he'd been in on it longer than he'd led on. That Winter had been a stoolie for the feds. That the holotapes were meant to finger the heads of crime families. That the investigation was over. And that he was sorry about what happened to Jenny.

Sorry? _Sorry?_ Sorry was what you said to someone when you got klutzy and stepped on their toes, or bumped your shoulder into them while walking on the sidewalk. Sorry was what you said to someone when you mispronounced their last name. Widmark had known Winter was out to get Jenny and he'd done jack shit about it. Sorry didn't even come close to matching what he'd let happen to my fiancée.

Widmark mentioned something about the C.I.T trauma program and—

_Nick stands at the train station staring down at the tracks. Like they're calling him to jump in front of the locomotive and it would all be over. Just a few seconds and it'll be over. The wind bites at the tips of his ears and nose and his bare knuckles. But Widmark insisted on coming with him, waiting to say goodbye. Nick doesn't turn around. The train comes to a hissing stop. He picks up his luggage and gets on._

The C.I.T. Program. Scanning brainwaves.

“You're going. That's an order.”

Brainwaves.

_A metallic screech rings through Nick's ears. Long needles in his skull. His wrists ankles and waist are strapped down._

Scanning brainwaves.

_A synth with long vacuum tubes jutting out from his head reaches out to touch my face. Why is he touching me? Where am I?_

Trauma program.

_I'm Nick Valentine. I'm Nick Valentine. Why won't these people let me go? I'm human. I'm a fucking human!_

Boston PD had been working with the eggheads at C.I.T.

_ The synth tries to shush me. I can feel his hands on my back. _

Flashes of light and static made my pupils regret the fact they wouldn't constrict. The headache sawing at my head made my vision split and then collide and then Julia was in my face.

“Nick! What's going on?”

I sat up, rubbing at my eyelids with my covered hand. (I'd made the mistake of using the other one far too many times.)

“Hell if I know.”

Nick had gone silent. I had one thing to be thankful for, at least.

The code pieces. I still had to run them through the processor.

"Got it," I said. "1, 9, 5, 3, 7, 2, 8, 4, 0, 6."

That old thug was holed up in Andrew Station, thinking he was safe in his little cocoon. I was going to prove otherwise.

* * *

Julia's fingers typed away at the numbers almost faster than my eyes could process. This was it. The moment Nick and I had been waiting for. Finally, time for Eddie Winter to get his due. I could feel the coolant thrumming through my systems like adrenaline, my legs practically vibrating with excitement. I heard the lock buzz open, deadbolt snapping away from the strike plate.

The door opened with a whine. That toupeed ghoul was standing there in the middle of the room wearing a dumbfounded look on his mug and an old mustard stain on his shirt.

“The fuck? Who the fuck are you?”

“Eddie Winter?” she asked, pulling at the brim of her trilby.

“All this time, and the first person to walk through my door is an idiot.” And then he added. “At least you're easy on the eyes.” He paced about the room. As if that would make him look more intellectual. “Don't tell me you actually cracked my code? In the holotapes?” He threw back his head and laughed.

I remembered that wheezing laughter. The first time I'd brought him into questioning, he'd cackled in that same manner like he knew he was going to get away with it. Like he knew he'd make me—or Nick...pay.

“It's only been what? Two-hundred years?” He went on some rant about how it was a test to see how dumb the cops were and that we should hit the road.

“I'm not going anywhere until I get what I came for,” I said.

“Yeah? And what's that? And who are you? You look kinda familiar. But... what are you, some kind of robot? Is that what it's like out there now? A world of robot overlords? I knew it.”

“The name's Valentine. Nick Valentine. Remember me?”

“The cop? Is that who you're supposed to be? Sorry pal, but you ain't Nick Valentine. You're just some kind of... machine.”

The synthetic joints at my knuckles popped the harder I squeezed my hands into fists. “You killed my fiancée.” Her name hurt as it scraped out of my throat. “Jennifer Lands. There are some crimes even you can't get away with, Winter.”

“You mean _Valentine's_ fiancée?” He sucked at his teeth. “Pretty girl. Shame what happened to her.” The smile tugging at his mouth made me want to rip his spine out through it. “Shoulda backed off when he had the chance.”

He stepped forward into my personal space. Any other man would've taken this as an affront.

“What gives, robot man? Why do you even care? Some girl gets whacked 200 years ago, and you come into my home acting the hard guy?” Winter spat. “Christ, look at you. You're not even alive.”

I clicked the safety off my pistol and aimed it. “Then I guess I'm in good company.”

For an old ghoul, the man still had some strength to him. I realized this as the punch he landed knocked me sideways into the wall. Was my jaw still screwed in place? I reached for it as if it could possibly bleed. No, I was fine.

“Wrong move,” I heard Julia say. Oh, no. Please don't let her shoot in here. There was no way of telling which one of us she would hit.

My optical wires must have gotten knocked loose because everything was blurry. Grunts and blows, the sounds of a struggle.

“Wait a minute... Aren't you that broad?” I heard him say. “Beauchamp's girl. No way.”

Winter howled in pain and I could tell he was doubled over.

“Nick! It's now or never!”

The moment I got my bearings, I shot a single round. Got him square in the shoulder and he fell on his knees. I'd been aiming for his head, but I could afford a few more bullets. The next one went in his gut.

He coughed, spewing blood all over the floor. And yet he managed a weak laugh. He uttered out a few words. Words that were lost in the moment, as I was behind him, the muzzle of the pistol pressed against the back of his head. Just like he'd shot Jenny. That son of a bitch.

I squeezed the trigger and Eddie Winter spoke no more.

And I felt...

Nothing.

No ecstatic surge of victory, nor vindication, nor even the satisfaction of a job well done. I felt nothing.

And I wasn't sure about how I felt about nothing.

“We're done here,” I said. “But there's one more thing I've got to do. I...I wouldn't mind the company if you wanted to tag along.”

“Sure,” she said in that tiny voice again.

Neither of us said anything on our way back up to the Sub Shop. Nor did we say much when I stopped in front of the Grey Tortoise billboard in front of Joe's Spuckies. Just the crying of seagulls and the rushing of waves and wintry gusts. This was it, wasn't it?

I could see tendrils of Julia's hair fluttering in the wind, dislodged from their neat ponytail in the previous scuffle. Her eyes were on me, I could tell, but she wasn't saying anything.

_Better watch who your friends are, Valentine._

That's what Winter had said before I pulled the trigger. It just hadn't registered until now. We exchanged a glance and she looked away first. Her nostrils were flushed, though, like she was close to crying. A look that screamed guilt.

Had she had anything to do with this? Had I wasted months of my life and resources on helping the cause of my problems?

My lips felt dry, craving the comfort of a cigarette between them. If she wasn't going to have the moxie to fess up, then I'd have to press her.

“In this spot, two hundred years ago, one of Eddie's boys put a bullet in Jenny Land's back. We...She was supposed to meet Nick at Armand's Bistro, but it mysteriously burned down the night before.”

Julia started to sob, eyes screwed shut.

“So she walked all the way here to meet him. And they followed her. And they took her...” She was wailing through her hands now, but I wasn't about to let her cry her way through this one. I pulled her hands away. I wanted her to look at me. “And they raped and tortured her and left her here to make her think they were letting her go... And to put the icing on the cake, they shot her in the back. And you wanna know what they did next?”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Nick.”

“They dragged her to a dumpster and left her in there with last night's trash! And you see that bloodstain on the floor? On the concrete? That's all that's left of Jennifer Lands. That's it.”

Her lips were trembling. But Julia Vidal had proved to be an excellent actress in the past.

“So, really. Who the hell are you and why did Eddie Winter know you?”

“I'm sorry.” Yeah. Sorry. I'd heard that word a few too many times in the past twenty-four hours and I was getting sick of it. “No civilians were supposed to have gotten hurt. I swear.”

“You swear? You've done nothing but lie to me from day one. Is your name even Julia Vidal? I couldn't find anything on you in my database!”

She blinked and sniffled. “You've been trying to dig up dirt on me?”

“You haven't given me a reason to trust you. And just who the hell is Beauchamp?”

The dame was looking at me all wide-eyed like a cornered rat. “I...I can't tell you. Not yet. But I haven't lied to you, Nick.”

“Then how does Eddie Winter know you?”

“Because we were down at the precinct together once! Okay?”

At the precinct? So had I seen her before, then? Or, rather, Nick? Why would she have been at the precinct? I racked through Nick's memories, trying to match her to a face.

“I...We burnt down Armand's because we'd gotten intel that General Rhodes had gotten the placed loaned for the night. And it was our one chance to get him quietly. With no civilians hurt.”

Why did Rhodes sound so familiar?

_ Big-shot in the military. Boston native,  _ Nick offered.

The image of a middle-aged man with salt and pepper sideburns and a bushy mustache flashed behind my eyes. A politician, too. Running for office of mayor that year.

“Beauchamp got caught. I bailed him out the next day.”

Those papers on the desk. The reason I couldn't pick Jenny up that day. It was a political nightmare and Rhodes had wanted blood. He'd stormed in demanding that whoever ruined his campaign dinner be shot on sight.

The name “Beauchamp, A.” was printed on a mugshot. Tall guy. Taller than Nick. I remembered sitting in front of him, asking him why he'd done it. And he'd given me that cryptic smile Julia so often gave me. And then some girl with hair like swirling storm clouds and thick glasses walked in with a few thousand dollars to bail him out. Just like that.

The girl.

Julia. The thick, textured hair. I saw it now.

“I didn't even know Eddie Winter. I knew he was some thug, but I didn't know... I swear didn't know...”

“Didn't know what?”

“He's who told us about Armand's. About the campaign dinner. Beauchamp was using him for intel.”

“In exchange for what? Who's Beauchamp?”

“Nick, please.” She grabbed my hand, but her touch might as well have been flames because I snatched it away from her. “Please. I didn't know. I'll tell you everything. Just... Not now. Not yet. Okay?”

My silence must have not been what she wanted to hear because she broke down.

“Nick, please, you're the only friend I have out here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I need you to wait. Please. Just a little while longer.”

I was retreating without thinking about it. I couldn't do this. It was too much. I had Nick screaming in my head and Julia, or whatever her name was, blubbering in front of me and Jennifer's grave under my feet and it was all too much. I had to go. So I turned and kept walking.

She shouted something I didn't quite get, so I stopped.

“My real name is Julia Vidal. Julia Dolores Vidal Lebrón,” she called out. And then, in a smaller voice. “Look me up later.”

Regardless, I was going back home to Diamond City. I needed some time to clear my head again. And I needed to get away from _her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned for this chapter to bring them closer but then they did their own thing and this happened instead. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Julia's character is partially based on real-life activist and revolutionary Lolita Lebrón.
> 
> A lot of Spanish-speaking countries have the custom of giving you both your father's last name (first) and then your mother's but refer to you in day-to-day by your first last name. So Julia's dad was known as Mr. Vidal and her mom was known as Ms. Lebrón (before marriage.) Julia would be referred to as Ms. Vidal until she got married; however few women in PR change their last names legally, so she would still be Vidal Lebrón on paper, but known as Mrs. Cortez (hey, remember Nate?) in social situations. Look, I don't make the rules here.

**Author's Note:**

> *dramatic music*
> 
> I don't usually write in first-person POV, but I think it adds to the whole "noir" feel of it all. I'll be polishing it up as I get more practice. 
> 
> I'd like to thank J, as always, for enabling me, and "The Maltese Falcon" for being so freaking iconic.


End file.
